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X 


DOEEIS AND HEE 
MOUISTTAUST 
HOME. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 

/ 


J. SPYEI, 

By MARY E. IREEAISTD. 







RICHMOND, VA. : 
PRESBYTERIAN COMMITTEE OF 
PUBLICATION. 


c' 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copies Received 

MAR 20 1903 

Copyright Entry 
CLASS ^ XXc. No 
COPY B. ‘ 



Printed by 

J. L. HaL Printino Co., 
Richmond, Va. 



To her valued friend 

MRS. BELLE 
CALDWELL 
CULBERTSON 

president of the Wom- 
an’s Foreign Mission- 
ary Society of the 
Presbytery of Wash- 
ington City and former 
missionary to Indo- 
China, this story of 
life in Italy and Switz- 
erland is affectionately 
dedicated by THE 
T RAN S L AT O R 


Washington, D. C. 









CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

A Chance Meeting, 

CHAPTER II. 
A Visit to Pallanza, . 

CHAPTER III. 

Giving Up the Old Home, . 

CHAPTER IV. 

Dorris and Her Relations, 

CHAPTER V. 
A First Call, .... 

CHAPTER VI. 

When Wild Roses are in Bloom, 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Durants in Council, 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Another Visit to Uncle Nicholas, 

CHAPTER IX. 
A Talk with Melchior, 

CHAPTER X. 

Many Pleasant Surprises, 

CHAPTER XI. 

Back in the Loved Home, 

CHAPTER XII. 

Good Company for Willie, 


Page. 

9 

19 

34 

48 

57 

68 


84 


97 

III 

127 

146 

160 



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Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 


Translated from, the German of J. Spyri. 

By Mary E.. Ireland. 


CHAPTEE I. 

A CHANCE MEETING. 

One beautiful evening in the latter part of May, 
a little girl stood leaning upon a low stone wall on 
the slope of Mont Eosso, which overlooks the blue 
waters of Lake Maggoire in Italy. 

She was listening to the melody of chiming bells, 
borne upon the soft air from steeples in villages far 
and near. 

A basket of roses was at her feet, their odor 
mingling with that of violets and other vdld flowers 
blooming in luxurious profusion about her. 

She was so absorbed by the sweet sounds that she 
did not notice a young girl who was walking in the 
footpath leading from the lake, and was somewhat 
startled when a white hand was laid gently upon 
her shoulder. 

^^I did not wish to alarm you, little girl,” smiled 


10 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

the stranger, and Dorris noticed the low, sweet 
tone of voice ; should have spoken before touch- 
ing you ; I would like to sit upon this old gray wall 
and chat with you ; will you tell me your name ?” 

^^Yes, it is Dorris Maurizius.” 

real pretty name; mine is Amalie von Ern- 
stein; I am glad to meet you in this lovely spot; 
do you often come here?’^ 

^^Oh, yes, very often ; I pass it every time I go to 
Maja’s of an errand, and always stop to look over 
the wall, and when it is at this time in the evening 
I love to listen to the bells/’ 

Amalie glanced with admiring eyes upon the 
sturdy little figure with large, soft brown eyes and 
cheeks like damask roses; and Dorris was equally 
pleased with the tall, slender figure of her com- 
panion, the deep blue eyes and the wealth of blonde 
hair, and above all the sweet, cordial manner. 

^^Did these lovely roses grow in your garden?” 
asked Amalie, glancing down at them. 

^‘Yes, we have plenty of roses, but you may speak 
in German to me, I understand it,” her quick intel- 
ligence having discerned the German accent, al- 
though her new friend spoke the Italian well for a 
foreigner. 

^'Do you really understand my native tongue? 
Yet you are an Italian; your beautiful dark eyes 
and hair and olive complexion tell me that.” 

^^But they told you wrong,” laughed Dorris glee- 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 11 

fully; ^%y father and mother were bom in Ger- 
many; so I am a German, although I was born in 
Italy/^ 

“What part of Germany were they from asked 
Amalie, with interest. 

“Papa was from the shore of the North Sea; his 
home was in a pretty village there.” 

“And you mother was from the same place ?” 

“No; mamma was from a village in Switzerland, 
called Schuls; they came here because papa was 
not strong, and the German doctors said the Italian 
climate and the mountain air would suit him bet- 
ter.” 

“I hope it did help him.” 

“The doctors said it helped him to live longer, 
but he died last summer,” and the dark eyes filled 
with tears. “He was an artist, and oh, he painted 
the loveliest picture of his home on the shore of the 
North Sea, wdth the white waves dashing upon the 
strand.” 

“Where is the picture now, Dorris ?” 

“Papa sold it to a picture dealer in Pallanza, 
and said he could paint another at any time, hut he 
had so much ordered work that he put it off from 
time to time, and it was never done. When he took 
ill he wanted to go to his old home, but was not 
strong enough'. Then he wished for the picture to 
be by his bed where he could see it. Mamma asked 
Maja to go to Pallanza and buy it back, and all the 


12 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

time Maja was gone she was so anxious because she 
thought the picture dealer might have sold it” 

^^Was it sold ?” asked Amalie, eagerly. 

^^No, but the picture dealer said that a lady who 
was visiting in Pallanza had admired it very much 
and had partly promised to buy it; but when Maja 
told him how ill papa was he said he would lend it ; 
and Maja brought it home with her, and papa and 
mamma were so glad to have it.” 

^^Where is it now?” 

“Mamma longed to keep it, but would not; she 
sent it back and thanked the picture dealer with 
many thanks for his kindness.” 

“My dear Dorris, it was I who bought that pic- 
ture, but I never until now knew the history of it. 
You and 3 ^ur mother are welcome to it, if you can 
send for it.” 

“Oh, yes we can,” said Dorris, clasping her hands 
for joy; “Maja will be glad to fetch it, and mamma 
will be glad.” 

“Who is Maja?” 

“She is our old neighbor who lives in a cottage 
under the shade of the chestnut trees.” 

“Does she live by herself ?” 

“Oh, no; she has Giacomo and Benedetto and 
Marietta living with her now.” 

“Who are they?” 

“They are her daughter Marie’s children. Marie 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 13 

was her only child, and when she died Maja took 
them all, and is taking care of them/’ 

^‘Is their father living ?” 

^^Oh, yes ; hut he works many miles away. He is 
a marble cutter., He comes to see them all as often 
as he can. Mamma says that he was always good to 
Marie and the children, and did the best he could 
for them.” 

^Ht is so lovely here,” commented Amalie, look- 
ing reflectively over the landscape spread before 
them, ^^but one must look for trials here as well as 
in less favored spots.” 

^^Do you live on Mont Eosso ?” asked Dorris. 

‘•!N’o, my father and I live in Berlin, but it is so 
lovely here in the springtime of the year that we 
came to Pallanza to stay for awhile. Do you ever 
come there ?” 

I have never been there. I staid with papa 
most of the day and we took lovely walks, but I 
never went so far. Of mornings he painted in the 
chapel, and of afternoons under the shade of the 
chestnut trees. Then when he was tired of painting 
we went higher up the mountain where we could 
look upon the sea and other mountains. Then of 
evenings papa and mamma read aloud and I lis- 
tened.” 

^^When your papa painted what did you do? 
Could you help him in any way ?” 


14 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

could not help much, but I read to him and 
he taught me to sing/^ 

“I wish you would sing for me.” 

Without making excuse or waiting for a second 
request, Dorris trilled out in a sweet, clear voice : 

“Red clouds in the heavens, 

White foam upon the sea, 

And beautiful, oh beautiful. 

Is the whole world to me. 

i “Red berries on the hill side. 

Blue violets on the lea, 

And beautiful, oh beautiful. 

Is the whole world to me. 

“But soon the autumn cometh, 

The leaves drop from the tree. 

But beautiful, still beautiful. 

Is the whole world to me. 

“After autumn comes the winter. 

Then spring comes back in glee. 

And beautiful, oh beautiful. 

Is the whole world to me.” 

‘That is a song I love,” commented Fraulein von 
Ernstein when she finished, “and your father has 
taught 3^ou to sing correctly ; you have a good voice 
and will give pleasure to many with your sweet 
songs.” 

“Mamma has a sweet voice; papa loved to hear 
her sing.” 


Dorris and Hen Mountain Home, 15 

^‘1 could not think what to give yon in remem- 
brance of our first meeting,” said Amalie, ^‘but now 
that you sing so sweetly I will give you my little 
hymn book and will write your name in it,” and 
taking the book and a pencil from her pocket she 
wrote, ^^Dorris Maurizius, from Amalie von Ern- 
stein,” and adding the date she put the book in the 
hand of Dorris, who colored with pleasure at the 
gift. 

^‘Now I will ask you to read one of my favorite 
hymns,” she continued, and selecting one she passed 
the book to Dorris, who read it without hesitation : 

“Take my hand, oh Father dear, 

Let me know thee ever near; 

Lead me, I will follow thee. 

Though it night and darkness be. 

Yes, dear Saviour, take my hand. 

Lead me to the blessed land.” 

^^You read well, Dorris, and I am sure you un- 
derstand what you read. You know if we trust our 
dear Father to lead us, he will take us in the way 
that is best for us.” 

^^My father did, I know,” said Dorris, confi- 
dently. 

^^But see, Dorris,” said her companion, pointing 
to the last two lines, ^Ve must consider these words 
as well as those of the first line.” 

^^But that is what my father tried to do; he 


16 Dorris and Her Mountain Home, 

wanted me to be perfectly happy here and in 
heaven.” 

am sure he did ; sure of it. I too have a dear, 
kind father who loves me so much that he would do 
anything in the world that is possible for him to do 
that I might have health. But I am ill, and this is 
such a grief to him that I cannot tell my feelings to 
him and thus make him willing to give me up. 
With all his deep, tender love for me, and all his 
great longing to have me well, he is powerless to 
help me. Therefore it is a blissful thought to me 
that there is a Father in heaven who loves me bet- 
ter than can any earthly father, and more than that, 
has the will and the power to make me well.” 

^^Will he cure you ?” asked Dorris, earnestly. 

^^He will, but perhaps not until he has led me 
into a higher and better life. In the new life I 
will never die. This earth is beautiful,” she said, 
glancing at the rosy clouds in the west and at the 
lake where tall trees were reflected in its clear 
waters, “but there is a land far more beautiful. 
When called I must go, and my Saviour will know 
the best way to lead me; I will put my hand in his 
with all faith and trust.” 

Dorris had listened with rapt attention to these 
words ; they were kept in memory, though far from 
knowing that at some time in the future they 
would be told to a listener who would treasure 
them as the greatest earthly blessing. 








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Tlio Home of Horris 





Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 17 

She was pondering over them when a gentleman 
was seen coming toward them — a tall, handsome 
man, with hair tinged with gray., 

^‘This is a new friend, papa,^^ said Amalie, cheer- 
ily; “Dorris Manrizins; and Dorris this is my dear 
father ; I want you to be good f riends.^^ 

“I am sure we will he,^^ he said pleasantly, as he 
took the hand of the little girl; “my daughter’s 
friends are mine.” 

“She has entertained me so well that I almost 
forgot that you might be waiting for me by the 
lake. I hope you have not been anxious about me ?” 

“A little,” and he tenderly put back a stray ring- 
let from the fair forehead, “but am glad you had 
such pleasant company.” 

“I will often think of you, Dorris, and hope you 
will think of me,” said Amalie as she stepped down 
from her place; “will you tell me where you live?” 

“Yes, and it is but a little walk from here; you 
just take that path until you come to a cottage by a 
great tree covered by grape vines. Near the tree 
is a great rock, and back of the cottage is our ter- 
race with beautiful flowers, and from it we can look 
out over the sea and the islands.” 

“That is beautiful, and I hope to see it some 
time, and will look for you to visit me in Pallanza ; 
we are stopping at the hotel there. Good-bye, Dor- 
ris, and thank you for this pleasant hour.” 

“I have more than enough roses for Maja and the 


18 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

children/’ said Dorris, taking np her basket ; ^Vill 
you have three of them?” and she selected three 
of the handsomest and presented them., 

^^Oh, thank you; I am glad to have them,” and 
kissing the little girl she took her father’s arm and 
went down the path to the lake. 

Dorris watched until they were out of sight, then 
went on up the mountain path to the cottage of 
Maja. 


CHAPTEE II. 


A VISIT TO PALLANZA. 

It was a great and unexpected pleasure to Doro- 
thy Maurizius to know that she was to have the 
painting that had been a comfort to her husband, 
and was deeply grateful to the kind girl who was 
willing to do them such a favor. 

^^Dorris,^’ she said the next morning after they 
had finished their frugal breakfast upon the ter- 
race, ^Vould you like to go with Maja to Pallanza 
this afternoon and get the picture 

^^Oh, mamma,’^ cried Dorris, her eyes beaming 
with delight, ^^can I really go?” 

^^I think the walk will not be too much for you ; 
you need not hurry, and can sit and rest on the way. 
As soon as we have had luncheon you can go up and 
ask Maja if she can go, and if so come back with 
her and dress for the call upon Fraulein von Ern- 
stein.” 

Dorris enjoyed a happy morning in anticipation, 
and made preparation for it speedily. Her pretty 
pink muslin dress and sash were laid out in readi- 
ness, and in a few minutes after she and Maja came 
down the mountain they could be on the way to 
Pallanza. 


20 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

Then she sat with her mother on the terrace 
sewing and' listening, as she loved to, while her 
mother told of her own early days in the Swiss 
hamlet, where her grandparents and uncles still 
lived. 

As soon as luncheon was finished she hurried up 
the mountain path, and soon reached the cottage of 
their humble neighbor. It was small and dark with 
age, and so covered with grape vines that it looked 
a leafy bower, very cool and pleasant. A wide 
arbor lined with benches led to it, also covered by 
grape vines, a favorite place with Dorris, for there 
she and Maja had often taken supper together, and 
Maja had told her true stories of her own youthful 
days. Dorothy had been a kind friend to her, and 
she in turn was faithful in any service she could 
render, and was honored and esteemed for her gen- 
uine piety. 

^^Certainly I will go to Pallanza,’^ she said when 
Dorris told her errand, ^^and will stop to see your 
mother with you, and can tell her that it suits me 
well to go, for Giacomo can see that the other two 
children will keep out of danger and mischief. I 
have done my morning’s work, and can go right 
away.” 

Dorris watched her making preparations for the 
visit, for Maja was extremely particular about her 
appearance., She donned a beautifully laundered 
print dress, and over it a wide apron in the same 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 21 

spotless condition; then tying a silk kerchief over 
her gray hair, pronounced herself ready. 

Dorris took her hand, and they went cheerily 
down the mountain, and found Frau Dorothy 
watching at the door for them. In her hand was a 
basket of rare roses, which she had just finished 
arranging as a gift to Fraulein von Ernstein. 

^^Oh, Maja, I am so glad it suits you to go,” she 
said; ‘^come in and rest while Dorris dresses.” 

Maja dropped into a chair by the door, and the 
time required by Dorris for dressing was all too 
short in which to recount the antics of Benedetto 
and Marietta in the cottage, which had heretofore 
been so quiet. 

Dorris soon appeared, sweet as a wild rose in her 
simple costume, and they set out, feeling that they 
were enjoying a fine outing. 

^^Maja, this is the vineyard where I have seen 
you and Marie cutting great bunches of purple 
grapes,” said Dorris ; “won’t you be glad when the 
time comes again for you to work and earn 
money ?” 

“Yes, but when will the time come for me, with 
three children to care for; no one knows but me 
what watchings they take,” and she told how her 
time and patience were taxed, yet with it all showed 
her love for her daughter’s children. 

When they reached Pallanza, Dorris was inter- 
ested in all she saw, particularly the fruit-sellers — 


22 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 


women with large baskets filled with luscious 
fruits ; but they did not halt, but went directly to 
the hotel and mounted the broad steps. Maja re- 
mained in the veranda, while Dorris, basket in 
hand, stepped into the wide corridor with many 
doors, and a clerk at a desk asked whom she wished 
to see. 

lady who bought a painting from an art 
dealer and will give it to me,’^ replied Dorris, so 
bewildered by the strangeness of the place that she 
forgot to give the ladys name. 

But she was spared embarrassment, for at that 
moment a gentleman came down the stairway whom 
she recognized as Amalie’s father, and she ran and 
clasped his hand. 

^^Why, bless me, this is our little friend from 
Cavandone,” he said kindly; ^Tiave you come to 
visit my Amalie ?” 

^^Yes; she was so good as to tell me that mamma 
could have the picture of the North Sea that papa 
painted, and Maja came with me to carry it home.” 

‘^Yes, she told me of it, and the picture is ready. 
We are very glad that we can oblige you. Come 
right up to Amalie’s room; she will be greatly 
pleased to see you,” and he took the hand of Dorris 
and led her away, the clerk looking surprised that 
the flower girl had such distinguished acquaint- 
ances. 

Fraulein Amalie was reclining upon a sofa near 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 


23 


an open window in a prettily furnished apartment, 
and her beautiful eyes beamed with pleasure at 
sight of Dorris. 

/^Come, bring a chair close by me,” she said cor- 
dially; do so love to look at your happy face.. 
And you brought more roses for me ? See, I have 
the three you gave me yesterday,” and she at- 
tracted the attention of Dorris to them, as fresh as 
ever in a handsome vase upon the center table. 
have been cheered ever since in thinking over our 
chat by the stone wall ; and papa was so glad that 
we have the painting for you; he tied it in strong 
paper ready for you; he has gone to his room for 
it.” 

^^Oh, thank you; mamma is so glad to know we 
are to have it, and sent her most grateful thanks to 
you.” 

too am glad we can do you both this favor; 
my time on earth will be too short to do many kind- 
nesses.” 

^^Won’t you let the doctor come to see you?” 
asked Dorris. 

^^Oh, yes ; he comes every day ; but only the great 
Physician can cure me; I trust in him'. Yes, there 
I shall be well and happy, and shall see my dear 
mother,” and she glanced upward with a serene 
smile. ^^If I could only tell papa of my joy in 
going home, and tell him that my only sorrow is in 
leaving him unreconciled to parting from me; but 


24 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

it distresses him so that I cannot mention it to 
him.” 

At that moment her father came in with the pic- 
ture, and Dorris arose to go. 

“Come when you can stay longer, dear Dorris,” 
said Amalie; “I would so love to have you come.” 

Dorris thanked her heartily for the invitation 
and her kindness in giving the picture, and kissed 
her in farewell. 

“I will take the picture down to Maja,” said 
Herr von Ernstein, and, leading the way, Dorris 
followed. 

“Do you think my daughter looks as well as she 
did yesterday?” he asked when they reached the 
veranda, where Maja was waiting patiently. 

“Yes, I think she looks better; her lips are redder 
and she has such pretty color in her cheeks,” re- 
plied the little girl. 

“Thank you, dear, and God bless you ; your visit 
has done her good; come very soon again,” and 
with a happy smile upon his face he led Dorris 
down the steps of the veranda and saw her and 
Maja on their way home, then returned to their 
parlor to read to Amalie. 

“You have brought the picture, Maja?” said 
Dorothy when the two friends reached the cottage. 
“I can never forget Fraulein Amalie’s and your 
goodness in doing us such a kindness. Here is a 
basket with cakes and other things for your supper. 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 25 

that you need not prepare any, but can rest after 
your long walk ; and here is a little gift in memory 
of my dear husband/^ and she put a number of sil- 
ver pieces into the toil-hardened hand, which was 
received with gratitude, and then Maja hurried 
home* 

It had been a long walk for Dorris, but she had 
enjoyed every moment of it, and also enjoyed the 
good little supper the mother had prepared for her, 
and which they shared under the shade of the arbor 
on the terrace. Then, in response to her mother^s 
request, she went to her room and slept for more 
than an hour. 

Dorothy, in the mean time, sat and reflected, as 
she had done many times, over the words of her 
husband, especially those which related to Dorris. 

^^We will train our daughter carefully and pray- 
erfully, dear Dorothy, he had said the morning of 
the day that he was called to come up higher; 
‘^train her that she may keep the pure heart and 
trusting faith that God has given her. Christian 
influence must surround her always; she must see 
or hear nothing but what is good. She must take 
her first communion in the church in my old home 
on the shore of the North Sea, the dear church of 
which my loved father was pastor for so many 
years. If not there, then in the church at Schuls.’^ 

Frau Maurizius was still meditating over these 
things when Dorris, refreshed by sleep, appeared, 


26 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

full of a new idea which must be imparted to her 
mother. 

^‘Mamma/^ she said, ^^papa taught me to read 
and write and cast up accounts, and when Maja 
told me as we walked along of the mischief the chil- 
dren get into, and the noise they make when in the 
house, and the fears she has when they are out that 
they will fall from trees or rocks, I thought of a 
plan to help her.” 

^^What is the plan, dear ?” asked Dorothy, deeply 
interested. 

could teach what I know to Giacomo and 
Benedetto, which would be of use to them, and by 
keeping them quiet be a help to Maja. Don^t you 
think papa would be pleased with my plan if he 
were here ?” 

am sure he would; the greatest happiness of 
his life was to help others. It will be a good thing 
for you all ; it will teach you patience and self-con- 
trol, and will give the poor children the only chance 
they have to learn.” 

‘^Can I go to-morrow morning, mamma?” 

^^Yes, the sooner you can help Maja the better.” 

will get everything ready this evening,” said 
Dorris eagerly; ^^my primer, spelling book, slate, 
pencils, paper, pens, and ink. Oh, how glad I am 
that papa taught me so well; I can be of use to 
somebody.” 

Then mother and daughter took up their needle- 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 27 

work, Dorothy taking interest and pleasure in 
teaching Dorris the art of sewing as well as the 
details of housekeeping., 

But there was no teaching for nearly a week, foi 
the next morning a heavy rain-storm set in, which 
lasted several days, and Dorris could not visit the 
home of Maja. 

But at length the storm was over, and although 
the clouds were lowering, Dorothy thought there 
would be no more rain, and Dorris hurried away. 

She found the cottage in confusion, Benedetto 
having pulled a burning stick from the fire on the 
hearth, which not only set his apron ablaze and 
burned his fingers, but dropped ashes into the soup 
boiling on the coals. At the same moment Marietta 
had pulled a bucket of water from the shelf, which 
wet her from head to foot, and she was screaming 
from fright and discomfort, and Maja was scolding 
them all and slapping right and left. 

^^It is too much ! too much ! I am almost beside 
myself since the wet weather set in,^^ she said, as 
she gave Dorris a chair. Then she stripped the wet 
clothes from Marietta, and wrapping a shawl about 
her sat her by the fire while she wrapped Bene- 
detto’s fingers in fiour to prevent them from blis- 
tering. 

^Ts there any new trouble, Maja?” asked Dorris. 

^There is no need of a new one, child; the old 
one is enough. The children could not get out all 


28 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

week, and they are such a charge, and their noise 
almost sets me wild/^ 

^^But the children could help you, Maja, if you 
would tell them what to do.” 

‘^‘^They could if they would, but Giacomo sees 
nothing and hears nothing, and gives no more heed 
to the bothers I have than a marble statue.” 

^‘1 have come to help you with the children, 
Maja; I will stay all morning and teach them as 
papa taught me.” 

^‘Bless you, child, that will be a great help. My 
work is all back and I cannot catch up with it for 
watching to keep the children out of mischief.” 

‘^May we have the table by this window, Maja ? 
Mamma said it is too damp this morning for us to 
have our school in the grape arbor.” 

“Certainly, child, you shall have the table any 
place you want it.” 

Dorris helped her place it by the one window; 
then Maja dressed Marietta and went to the spring 
to do the washing, which had accumulated rapidly 
since the children came, feeling a blessed relief 
that they were, for one morning at least, off her 
mind.. 

Dorris placed all the articles she had brought 
upon the table, and then told the children to take 
their places, but there was no response. 

Giacomo, a handsome boy of eight, stood in a 
corner of the room, his black eyes fixed upon the 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 29 

teacher in silence, remaining immovable through 
all her beckoning and coaxing. Benedetto ran from 
one side of the room to the other, jumping over a 
piece of wood he had placed in the middle of the 
floor, and Marietta was jumping from the door- 
sill to the ground. 

^^Come, Giacomo, and I will tell you a pretty 
story about a wolf and five kids,’^ she said, but the 
boy turned his face to the wall. 

^^Tell it to me,^^ said Benedetto, stopping in his 
play. 

^‘1 will ; come Marietta and listen,^^ and the little 
girl came and stood by her, looking up into her 
face. 

Fortunately, Dorris had come prepared for such 
an emergency, for among the school-books was one 
with gay pictures, and after telling the story of 
the wolf and the kids she tried lessons, to which 
neither Giacomo or the others paid any attention, 
so she spent the whole morning reading stories and 
explaining the pictures. 

It was now time for Dorris to go home, and she 
put the school things in the satchel, while Giacomo 
watched her in silence. 

^^Giacomo,” she said, going to him, ^Vhy 
wouldn^t you come and look at the pictures and 
listen to the story of the wolf and the kids 

^^Mother told me that story,” he replied, with 
trembling voice. 


30 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

^Tben you should love to listen to it and be 
friendly with 

^^Mother will never come again,” he said, burst- 
ing into tears and turning his face to the wall. 

"Oh, dear Giacomo,” said Dorris, putting her 
arm around him, "forgive me for not thinking you 
were grieving for your mother. My father will 
never come again, and I miss him just as you do 
your dear mother,” and they wept in sympathy 
while the other children looked on in solemn si- 
lence. 

Giacomo had found a friend who understood 
him. He had not seen his father since his mother 
was carried to her place of rest, and his grand- 
mother was too overburdened with her own sor- 
rows to talk to the boy and help him bear his loss. 
The cottage was empty of comfort and consola- 
tion, but until then he had shed no tears. Dorris 
had put her arm around him as his mother had 
done; henceforth he was her faithful friend, and 
years after evinced bis gratitude in a delightful 
and unexpected manner. 

"Oh, Dorris,” said Maja, coming in at that mo- 
ment with a great bundle of wood she had gath- 
ered in the forest, "I feel like another person since 
you gave me a chance to see two steps ahead of me. 
I do thank you.” 

"I will come to-morrow, and the children will do 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 31 

even better than they did to-day. I will bring an- 
other picture book.”. 

The next morning at the same hour Dorris went 
up the mountain and met Giacomo, who had come 
to watch for her and carry her box. Benedetto 
and Marietta welcomed her with delight, and clam- 
ored to see the picture book, but Dorris was firm 
in her refusal.. They must learn the lessons she 
gave them, or they would see no pictures. They 
took seats at the table, and Dorris gave the boys 
paper, pens, and ink and Marietta slate and pencil, 
and soon all were interested in copying what she 
wrote, the look of despondency leaving Giacomo 
as he became interested in his work. Then while 
the boys were learning the simple spelling lesson 
she gave them, she taught Marietta her letters; 
this was varied with counting, and when it came 
time for the pictures and stories the children felt 
they had earned them. 

^^Oh, you good angel!” exclaimed Maja when 
Dorris was ready to go, have begun to love the 
children more, now that I have not the care of 
them all day, and feel so rested that their noise 
does not trouble me as it did.” 

When Dorris told her mother of her success, she 
noticed that she was more interested than at any 
timie since her great bereavement, except in the 
case of the return of the painting, and a new 
thought came to her. 


32 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

^^Mamma/’ she said, ‘^let me bring the children 
here to-morrow instead of teaching them there. 
We could make the terrace our school-room, and 
you could sit there and listen. Won^t you let them 
come, mamma 

‘‘Yes, you may have them here, Dorris; your 
father would be glad to have us help them.’^ 

It was a charming change for all from the dim 
little room to the fragrant terrace. Dorothy wel- 
comed them cordially, and took upon herself the 
instruction of Marietta. She was a cultured musi- 
cian, and music was added to the daily exercises, to 
the delight of the children, who had good voices, 
and Giacomo and Benedetto learned the notes 
quickly. 

“Grandmother is going to Pallanza this after- 
noon, and said if your mother is willing you could 
go with her to see Fraulein von Ernstein,^’ was the 
charming message that Giacomo brought one morn- 
ing when the children came to their lessons. 

“Certainly she can go, and I am glad she has the 
opportunity,^’ responded Dorothy, to the great de- 
light of Dorris, and after luncheon the two set out 
upon the beautiful walk, but when they reached 
the hotel Dorris found a new clerk at the desk. 

“There are no guests here of that name,” he re- 
plied to her inquiry; “if they were ever here they 
are gone.” 

This was a disappointment, but Dorris went 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 33 

with Maja upon her errand, and upon the whole 
had an enjoyable visit to Pallanza with her old and 
faithful friend. 

Time passed on, and every week day the children 
spent the whole morning with Dorothy and Dorris, 
growing cultured, lovable, and helpful in that 
sweet, Christian home. 


CHAPTER III. 


GIVING UP THE OLD HOME., 

Thus passed the weeks into months and the 
months into years, and Dorris continued to teach 
the children, and under the training of her excel- 
lent mother was growing into useful and beautiful 
womanhood. 

Her sixteenth birthday came, and on the morn- 
ing of the day she arose early and gazed from her 
window at the roses upon the terrace glowing in 
the early beams of the sun. All was so fresh, fra- 
grant, and beautiful that her heart went up in 
gratitude to God for the blessings she enjoyed. 

She stood there for some time, then went out 
upon the terrace to get a nearer view of the flowers, 
and was surprised and pleased to see Maja and the 
three children coming toward her, all in their Sab- 
bath attire and carrying wreaths of wild flowers. 
In addition to a wreath Maja carried a basket of 
fine grapes as a present to Dorris on her birthday. 

Giacomo stepped forward, and, presenting his 
wreath, bis handsome eyes brilliant with health and 
contentment, said: thank you for all you have 

done for us; may you live long and be always 
happy.'' 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 35 

It was now Benedetto’s turn, and being embar- 
rassed by his position as orator, his voice was 
pitched beyond its ordinary compass, and his face 
very red indeed. ^‘^To-day is your great festival, 
because you are sixteen. You are not a little girl 
any more, but a pretty young lady; I hope you will 
always be as pretty as you are now.” 

“You didn’t say it right,” whispered Marietta; 
but Benedetto had no intention of making another 
trial. He gave his wreath and gave place to his 
critic. 

But Marietta found it easier to criticise than to 
make an address. She forgot the little poem with 
which she was to congratulate Dorris, and could 
only give her wreath and step aside in confusion. 

“Dear Dorris,” said Maja, coming forward, “for 
sixteen years you have been a joy and a blessing to 
all near you. These grapes are from the sunny 
field where you and I have often walked at sunset. 
You admired) these rich clusters, and I have 
watched them and kept them for this day. We 
have had happy days together, and now on your 
sixteenth birthday I can only sa}’, ‘May our Father 
in heaven bless thee, and prosper thee, and keep 
tliee in his peace.’ ” 

The happiness of Dorris was increased to find 
that her mother was expecting the little company 
and) they were to take breakfast upon the terrace. 
Many little delicacies had been prepared unknown 


36 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

to Dorris, and throngliout, her birthday celebration 
was a joyous surprise. 

Maja was in excellent spirits, for she had heard 
from Beppo, now in Genoa, and he had sent her 
money to buy clothing for the children, and was 
coming as soon as possible to see them. And Dor- 
ris — ^how could Maja ever be grateful enough to 
her? She had made of Giacomo a boy of whom 
any one might be proud, for all his thoughts were 
now for others, giving a helping hand wherever 
needed. Benedetto had become a refined, courteous 
boy like his elder brother. ^^What -would Dorris 
think to hear you speak so T’ or ^^What would Dor- 
ris think to see you act so T’ was all that was neces- 
sary from Maja or Giacomo to quell his boisterous 
or mutinous outbreaks. He had grown neat in 
person and well informed upon general subjects, as 
well as in knowledge gained from books, for what 
Dorris had learned from her father and mother 
she imparted to them, and having bright intellects 
and retentive memories, it was seed sown in good 
ground. 

In addition to lessons from books and orally, 
music, and by example, Frau Dorothy took great 
pleasure in instructing Marietta in needlework and 
knitting, and the deft fingers of the little girl did 
credit to her teacher. 

Maja was intelligent enough to appreciate the 
benefit such friends were to the motherless chil- 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 37 

dren, training them in the path of right, and 
sharing freely the advantages which they had en- 
joyed, owing to a more favored position in life. 

“May God-’s blessing rest upon Frau Maurizius 
and Dorris,” was always included in the nightly 
prayer of Maja and the children, uttered with sin- 
cere hearts and in firm belief that the prayer would 
be granted. 

Nor were Frau Maurizius and her daughter 
without present reward for their labor of love, for 
besides the real help Maja and the children were 
in many little ways, the bright sayings of their 
pupils was the theme of many cheerful conversa- 
tions between mother and daughter when alone. 

“Mamma,” said Dorris after Maja and the chil- 
dren had left that morning, “they all thanked me 
so earnestly for what we have done for them, yet I 
think they have helped me as much as I have 
helped them.” 

“I have had good results, too, from it,” replied 
the mother; “my mind has been pleasantly occu- 
pied and I have felt that I am doing some good in 
the world.” 

“I never thought that I should have to study to 
keep in ad-vance of Giacomo,” laughed Dorris, “but 
he has asked many questions that I could not an- 
swer until I asked you or examined the books that 
belonged to papa. Even Benedetto sets me to 
stud 3 dng with his bright questions, and he and 


38 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

Marietta have taught me to be patient. I am so 
glad that I have papa’s books to consult, especially 
the encyclopedia, though all are good and useful. 
Papa was so wise; it appears to me I never asked 
him a question he could not answer.” 

“Yes, Dorris, you met with a great loss in losing 
your father, but God knows what is best; his ways 
are not our ways; we shall know these mysteries 
when we reach the other shore.” 

“I am glad that I was old enough to remember 
him and the beautiful walks we had over the moun- 
tain, and our talks when we sat down to rest, or 
when he was painting. We always lived so hap- 
pily in our beautiful home. Oh, mother, could you 
ever leave here to go to Switzerland, as your rela- 
tives are always writing you to do?” 

“No, Dorris; dearly as I loved my home there, 
this place is endeared to me by many sweet memo- 
ries. Many changes have taken place in Switzer- 
land since I left it, but my dear grandparents on 
my father’s side still live, and I hope we can visit 
them soon.” 

The subject of her childhood’s home was a pleas- 
ant theme to both, and was frequently discussed; 
but Dorothy had alwa^^s spoken more of the place 
than the people; while on the contrary, in speak- 
ing of her mother’s relatives on the shore of the 
North Sea, she spoke more of the people than the 
place. 


B orris and Her Mountain Home. 


39 


Their conversation was interrupted by the ap- 
pearance of a neighbor, who, having been to Cavan- 
done, halted to leave a letter for Dorothy. It was 
from Switzerland, and she opened it with misgiv- 
ings. 

It was from Marie Durant, wife of her Uncle 
Jacob, and vdth voice trembling with emotion, 
Frau Maurizius read it aloud to her daughter: 

“My Dear Niece Dorothy, — I write to tell you that 
your beloved grandfather has gone to a higher life, and 
we are, as you will know, very sad. He had reached his 
ninetieth year, but was active for one of his age, and 
cheerful, always taking interest in his fellow-creatures 
while waiting to be called home. 

“Grandma is in her eightieth year, but is strong and 
well for one of her age. They have firm belief that it 
is the climate of our beloved Switzerland that has pro- 
longed their lives, and are of the opinion that had your 
husband lived here instead of in Italy he would have 
been spared to you and your daughter. 

“Your grandfather’s funeral was the largest ever seen 
here. People came from all the villages around, which 
proved the estimation in which he was held. 

“Although you have always preferred to remain away 
from us, I think you will now see the propriety of re- 
turning to yom’ native land. All your grandfather’s 
property was portioned off by him, and with his de- 
cision, we are all satisfied. He had, as you know, three 
houses. The one by the bridge, where he and grandma 
have always lived, he bequeathed to his son Matthias and 
his wife Katharine, who have had their home there; and 


40 Dorris and Her. Mountain Home. 

as there is considerable land there, they and their three 
boys will have a good home. 

“My husband and I will remain in the house that we 
rented from your grandfather and which he bequeathed 
to us; and the house near the river is yours, and will 
make a pleasant home for you. It has been newly re- 
paired, and being larger than you need, you could select 
lodgers, if you choose, from the many tourists who apply, 
and thus have rent for at least one of your rooms. There 
is nothing to send you, as your patrimony as daughter 
of his son Daniel is comprised in the house and the land 
about it. Your grandma is anxious that you should 
come and take possession, not only to have you near her, 
but that your daughter may be under the influence of 
our pastor and our church, as she hopes that the re- 
ligion which prevails there has no hold upon her, but 
that she will unite with the denomination to which all 
her family for generations have belonged. 

“All your relatives send you loving greeting. 

“Your affectionate aunt, 

“Marie.” 

Dorothy laid the letter down and looked at Dor- 
ris, who was pale from anxiety over what bade fair 
to be the outcome of this letter. 

‘‘If your father were here udth us I should have 
no trouble in deciding for the right; now I must 
choose, Dorris, and I see no other way but to go,” 
said her mother. “What Aunt Marie says in re- 
gard to your bias in religious matters is entirely 
correct, as is her opinion in regard to our patri- 
mony. It would be far better for us to live upon 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 41 

it than to rent it for the pittance it would bring, 
and to still continue paying rent for this cottage. 
The sale of pictures your dear father painted has 
for six years kept us in comfort in our frugal way 
of living, but the stock in time must become ex- 
hausted.. It will be a terrible trial to me to leave 
this place, endeared to me by memories of your 
father; you must help me to bear it cheerfully, 
Dorris.’’ 

will help 5 'ou, mamma,” said Dorris, tear- 
fully; ^ht is what papa would wish us to do, I 
think. Did he know all your relatives? Did he 
like the one who wrote this letter?” 

‘^He saw them only when he visited me at my 
grandfather’s. As you know, my parents died 
when I was a mere child, and I went to live with 
my mother’s sister near the shore of the North Sea, 
not far from the home of your father. It was while 
there that we became acquainted, and a short time 
before we were married I came to stay with grand- 
father and grandmother. Your father admired 
them greatly, but did not care much for Aunt 
Marie. She is abrupt in manner, and so plain 
spoken that it amounts to rudeness, although she 
flatters herself that it is frankness. She means 
well, but it is her way, and it appears she cannot 
change it, and those accustomed to her don’t mind 
it. Your father was so refined and courteous that 
it was not to be expected that he would admire 


42 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

Aunt Marie, for her frankness, like that of many 
others, gives one the impression of coarseness, and 
was always repelling to his gentle, sensitive na- 
ture/^ 

^‘If we should go to Switzerland, mamma, would 
we have to stay there ; could we never come hack to 
dear Mont Rosso ?” 

cannot answer that, dear; I have no more 
idea than have you what awaits us there. It may 
be that you will like your relatives and new home 
so well that you will not wish to come back.” 

‘^And this house — must we give it up to 
strangers ?” asked Dorris, tears again rising to her 
eyes as she glanced about her. 

‘^This house is not ours, as you know, Dorris; 
we will give it up to the owner, and he will do as 
he thinks best with it.” 

^‘But, mamma, if we find that we are not happy 
there, and wish to come back, and find strange peo- 
ple in this dear house and strange children playing 
upon this terrace and plucking the roses that dear 
papa planted, and we could not come in any more, 
and — ” Dorris could say no more; she must give 
relief to her feelings by tears, and she wept aloud. 

^‘'Ob, Dorris,” said her mother in trembling 
voice, have thought of all this many, many 
times. I knew that the time would come when it 
would be advisable to return to my native place, 
and I dreaded making you unhappy, for I know 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 43 

tbe love you have for this home, the only one you 
have ever known.” 

Dorris was recalled to her deep sense of filial 
affection by the tone of her mother's voice more 
than by the words themselves. How often in the 
early days of their bereavement had she heard her 
mother speak in that tone, so different from the 
cheerful buoyancy of former years, and resolved to 
put self aside and not add one drop to the cup of 
that loving mother^s anxiety. 

‘‘We will go, mamma,” she said ; am sure that 
papa would think it best. You will be glad to see 
your relatives again, and I, too, will do my best to 
be glad. Do you know the way, mamma ? Where 
will we go first ?” 

The heart of Frau Maurizius grew light at the 
thought of the journey and joy that Dorris was 
willing to leave her loved home at the call of duty, 
and could not but rejoice that she would again be 
in the old home of her childhood. 

know the way well, Dorris,” she said. ^^First 
we go to Como, and from there to Chiavenna ; then 
on to Maloja, and next to Ober-Engadine. Then 
we go down into the valley, where there are many 
small villages, until we come to Schuls, which is 
my old home.” 

^^Mamma, you look so happy at the thought of 
seeing your old home; I did not know that you 
longed to go.” 


44 Dorris and Her Mountain Home, 

did I, Dorris; the way has never been 
opened until now. The death of dear grandfather 
makes changes which provides a comfortable and 
inexpensive living for us. It is, moreover, our 
own.” 

^‘We will commence to get ready right away, 
won’t we, mamma?” 

“Yes; our lease here will be up in two weeks, 
which will give us plenty of time without being 
hurried; and first we must tell Maja, and she will 
take the message to the owner of the house and will 
help us in every way. You may go now and tell 
her, Dorris.” 

The walk up the mountain was quickly accom- 
plished, and Maja and the children were deeply 
disturbed by the unexpected news, Benedetto and 
Marietta expressing their sorrow in earnest words, 
but Giacomo was silent, in his dark eyes the look 
of melancholy they bore the day that Dorris com- 
menced to teach. 

“I have faith that you will come back,” said 
Maja; “you will never be as contented in Switzer- 
land as you are in your pretty home on Mont Eosso. 
Yes, I feel sure you will come back.” 

Dorris smiled; she almost felt it a prophecy, 
and the sad look left the face of the children. 

“If no one has engaged you to help them, will 
you come down to-morrow and help us, Giacomo ?” 
she asked., 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 45 

He nodded ; he could not trust his voice to speaK ; 
and having Maja’s promise to go to Pallanza im- 
mediately to see the owner of the cottage, Dorris 
went home. 

That evening, when mother and daughter were 
sitting on the terrace, upon which the moon was 
shining with mild splendor, they were agreeably 
surprised by a visit from the owner and his wife 
and the pastor of Cavandone and several other 
friends and neighbors who had heard of the pur- 
posed change and had come to express their sorrow 
at parting with them, and each was presented when 
leaving vdth a bouquet of the beautiful roses as a 
parting gift. 

Two busy weeks went by and the pretty cottage 
stood empty, and Dorothy and Dorris sat upon the 
terrace waiting for the time to start upon their 
walk to Suna, from whence they were to take the 
boat on Lake Maggoire. 

^^Mamma, will I have time to take a last walk 
to the stone wall T’ asked Dorris. 

^^Yes; there is no need to hurry; we have given 
ourselves an hour by rising that much earlier than 
usual. 

Dorris ran down the path and soon reached the 
spot where six years before she had met Fraulein 
von Emstein. 

Flowers bloomed everywhere, and beautiful as 
the spot had always seemed to her, it was more so 


46 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

now that she was to hid it farewell. For her 
mother’s sake she resolved to shed no tears; and 
she went quickly back to the terrace and found 
Maja and the children, who had come to bid them 
good-bye. 

Tears were in Maja’s eyes, and she seemed at a 
loss for words to express her sorrow at parting with 
them. Giacomo stood aloof, pale and silent, but 
when the others turned to go he held out his hand 
to them in wordless farewell and left the terrace. 

When later, mother and daughter had bidden 
farewell to their loved home, and were going down 
the mountain to the lake, in passing a high rock 
they heard the sound of suppressed weeping, and 
halted to listen. 

It was Giacomo, who had come there to see them 
pass, and hearing them stop, came from his hiding 
place, his eyes swollen from weeping. 

^‘Oh, Giacomo,” said Dorris, ^^do not make it too 
hard for us to leave you all and dear Mont Eosso.” 

"I cannot help it,” he sobbed; feel just as I 
did the day they took our mother away.” 

^T)ear Giacomo,” said Frau Maurizius, her eyes 
filling with tears, “be the good boy you have always 
been and a comfort to your grandmother.” 

“Say you will come back if you can, and I will 
look forward to that time,” he said. 

“If we are not contented there, and can get the 
cottage we have left, and it seems for any reason 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 47 

better that we should" come back, we will,” said she 
kindly. 

A happy smile passed over the swarthy face of 
the boy. He again bade them farewell, and, watch- 
ing until he could see them no longer, he went up 
the mountain path to his home. 


CHAPTEE IV. 


DORRIS AND HER NEW RELATIONS. 

The setting sun was gleaming softly one evening 
upon the large old-time stone house by the bridge 
near Schuls, in Switzerland, tinting with rosy hues 
the ripples upon the river which glided past on its 
way to the sea. 

Within the wide doorway, in her arm-chair, sat 
Grandma Durant, and on the porch near her were 
her two sons, Matthias and J acob, stalwart, elderly 
men with black eyes and black hair mixed with 
gray, and near them stood their wives, Katharine 
and Marie. 

The sons of both families had congregated upon 
the bridge, but near the porch with his elders was 
Nicholas Durant, their cousin from Ardez, all 
awaiting the arrival of Dorothy and Dorris, who 
were expected any moment. 

Nicholas was an overgrown boy, with fair com- 
plexion and light brown hair, large, round blue 
eyes, and large hands and feet. He was restlessly 
walking to and fro the path in front of the porch, 
his hands in the pockets of his wide pants, halting 
occasionally to glance up the road which ran along 
the river. 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 49 

is just eighteen years since Dorothy married 
and went to Italy,” remarked Marie to her hus- 
band. ^^It seems but yesterday since I heard her 
say about twenty times a day: ‘I don’t know; I 
will ask my husband.’ ” 

^^That was very respectful of her, I think,” re- 
marked Jacob. 

^‘Yes, Jacob,” said his wife, sharply, ^^but what 
patience would you have with me if I should run 
to ask you whether I should put a sprig of parsley 
in the soup and get you to time the boiling of the 
eggs for breakfast ? She appeared to think he knew 
everything, and, moreover, was the best man in the 
world ; but how could we know what he was ? — ^he 
was a stranger here.” 

^‘Do not go beyond the truth, Marie,” here inter- 
posed the calm voice of Grandma Durant. Al- 
though we were not acquainted with the relatives 
of Victor Maurizius, we do know that his father 
was pastor of a church in a town or village on the 
shore of the Yorth Sea, and his mother one of the 
best of Christian women. We also know that in 
the years that he lived, Dorothy’s letters spoke al- 
ways of the happiness of her life with him, which 
is all the testimony one needs in his favor, for to 
that sweet, gentle creature a harsh word would 
have been like a blow.” 

^Gt is strange that Dorothy always preferred 


50 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

living away from remarked Katharine, reflec- 
tively* 

^^Dorothy was the daughter of the eldest son, 
and therefore had privileges that none others could 
have,’^ replied Marie. 

would like to Imow who this Cousin Dorothy 
is, and how she came- to be a relation of mine,’^ 
here interrupted Nicholas; never could under- 
stand when uncle tried to tell me.^^ 

^^If you have not learned from hearing her so 
constantly spoken of lately I don^t see how you 
will ever learn, remarked Marie, sharply. 

^‘One never knows how to take Cousin Marie,’’ 
said Nicholas, gazing upon her in open-mouthed 
surprise. 

^‘You must take her as a cow takes salt,” sug- 
gested Jacob; ^flf it is not grass, it is something 
else*” 

^^Come, Nicholas, I will tell you w^ho Dorothy 
is,” said Grandmother Durant from the doorway, 
^“hut you must not walk about, but come and sit 
here by me. Our eldest son was named Daniel, a 
tall, straight man, with eyes as bright as stars. 
He was quick and energetic in his way, entirely 
different from that of Matthias and Jacob, who are 
slow of speech and movement. In his twenty- 
second year he married a fair young girl from the 
valley of the Munster. Their only child, a daugh- 
ter, is the Cousin Dorothy we are expecting this 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 51 

evening. The mother died when Dorothy was but 
three years old; then our son Daniel was called 
home, and relatives on her mother^s side took the 
little one home with them. She staid there until 
she was seventeen, then came to us and remained a 
year, when she was married to an artist with whom 
she became acquainted in her northern home. 
Dorothy was a beautiful, gentle creature, and we 
loved her as well as we did our own children.’’ 

^^But how did she become related to me?” in- 
quired Nicholas. 

^^Her grandfather and yours were half brothers.” 

‘TTes,” said Nicholas, reflectively; ^^and this 
daughter, Dorris — ^how old is she ? Is she pretty ?” 

^^She is about sixteen, and if resembling either 
father or mother, cannot fail of being pretty. Vic- 
tor Maurizius was a handsome man, and, what is 
better, a Christian. I will add that Dorothy, with 
her fair hair, pure white and pink complexion, and 
dark blue eyes, was in direct contrast to his dark 
brown hair, hazel eyes, and olive complexion.” 

^Ts Cousin Dorothy young as these two ?” point- 
ing to the two matrons. 

^^She is about the age of her aunts, Katharine 
and Marie. Matthias and Jacob did not marry 
until past thirty.” 

^Ts Dorris good tempered ?” 

‘Tf like her mother she must be sweet and gen- 


52 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

tie, and' her father was pleasant in manner and dis- 
position.” 

^‘You are faithful at asking questions, Nicho- 
las,” remarked Marie; ^Vouldn’t you like to know 
how many pairs of shoes she has and how many 
ribbons for her hair?” 

‘^It is no wonder I ask,” replied Nicholas in an 
aggrieved tone; ‘ht is a great thing to have a girl 
cousin, when we have had none but boys.” 

“I think that cousins like my boys are something 
to be proud of,” said Marie, severely. ^‘1 have yet 
to learn that sons are to be despised because there 
are no girls.” 

^^And my boys,” said Katharine, “you should be 
proud to acknowledge them as cousins.” 

“I often wonder how Dorothy could live after 
losing her husband,” remarked Grandmother Du- 
rant; “she was of such a dependent, clinging na- 
ture. She would not decide anything without con- 
sulting her grandfather; then when married her 
husband was her friend, her adviser, her all in all. 
She appeared to live but in him.” 

“I think people should have a mind of their own 
and not be guided so much by other people^s opin- 
ion,” said Marie. 

“The sun has disappeared behind the mountain 
and the evening air is growing cool, so I must move 
my chair to the sitting-room,” said Grandmother 
Durant, as she arose to make the change. “Come 


Bonis and Her Mountain Home. 53 

in and take supper with us, Nicholas, and wait for 
Dorothy.” 

‘^1 would like to,” replied the boy, wistfully, 
^^but uncle always wants me at home of evenings. 
I will go now and come to-morrow.” 

^^Yes, we can count upon your coming now, 
Nicholas,” remarked Marie; ^^you will not be con- 
tented in Ardez when you know that Dorris is in 
Schuls.” 

“It is entirely right that he should come to help 
welcome his new relatives,” said Grrandmother Du- 
rant; “I wish Dorothy to see that we are all glad 
to have her come.” 

The others remained in the porch, and at twi- 
light the travelers arrived and were warmly wel- 
comed ; then all went in to the good supper which 
had been awaiting them., 

“My great-grandehild is a fine girl,” said Grand- 
mother Durant with pride; “healthy, well devel- 
oped, sprightly, and sensible. She has the brilliant 
eyes of my son Daniel and the olive complexion 
and auburn hair of her father.” 

Dorris on her side was equally pleased with 
Grandmother Durant; she admired the beautiful 
white hair, the dignified manner, stately presence, 
and gentle tone of voice. But she was bewildered 
by the strong resemblance between her great-uncles, 
and did not believe that she would ever be able to 
distinguish one from the other. There were also 


54 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

a Matthias and a Jacob in each family of boys, and 
all spoke in monosyllables in reply to her, as did 
their fathers. She was glad when it came time to 
retire, for she was weary and longed to be alone 
with her mother. 

The next morning they went to their own house 
to prepare for the arrival of their household goods, 
and Dorothy was surprised that the house she once 
thought large was so small. 

The rooms of which Marie had written as being 
newly repaired were in great contrast to the others, 
which looked dingy and hare; but to Dorothy it 
was the place where her father and mother had 
lived their few years of happy married life, and 
her heart warmed toward it. 

“I am so glad to see dear old Mont Pisoc,’^ said 
she, going to the window which overlooked the 
river; ^^is it not beautiful, Dorris 

^Tt is so dark and dull looking, mother, and the 
clouds resting upon it are cold and gray.” 

^^But it is late in the season now, Dorris; wait 
until spring and the new foliage comes. On pleas- 
ant days and evenings until cold weather you can 
take lovely walks over it and gather wild flowers.^’ 
^^Mont Eosso always looks green and pretty, 
mamma, with rosy clouds resting over it.^’ 

^‘We will not make comparisons, dear, but will 
let our eyes rest only on the beauty about our new 
home. When you get accustomed to the place, the 



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.../ ,.■ Ja'_, 

.■H->.5:!;^v>,; 

'* ♦< r , • / * v<^ '£ 


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The Bridge. 


Dorris and Her. Mountain Home. 55 

river and bridge and the mountains will be as at- 
tractive, I hope, to you as the scenery about Lake 
Maggiore. We will take pleasant walks together 
when we get our house arranged as we wish/^ 

^It can never be as lovely as the home we left, 
mamma, but we will make the very best of the 
change.. Do the relatives seem the same as when 
you left them?” 

^^My uncles look much older and appear more 
quiet than they used to be. But I see no change in 
grandmother; she is the same intelligent, sensible, 
kind, and motherly old lady I have always known.” 

^^Did you like to visit your Great-Uncle Nicho- 
las at Ardez, mamma ?” 

^TTes; when the grandmother of your Cousin 
Nicholas was living it was a charming place to go, 
and her two bachelor sons were kindness itself to 
me. Then Daniel, the older one, married, and at 
his death left his son to the care of his Brother 
Nicholas; so now there are but two in the beautiful 
home, my Great-Uncle Nicholas, who is very 
wealthy, and the Cousin Nicholas, who is coming 
to call upon us this morning.” 

At that moment there came the sound of vigor- 
ous knocking upon the open hall door, and Dorris 
left the breakfast-room window to see the visitor, 
followed by Dorothy. 


CHAPTER V. 


A FIRST CALL. 

I 

On the porch stood Nicholas Durant, looking 
wonderingly upon the mother and daughter, but 
giving no utterance to his thoughts. 

''You are our Cousin Nicholas from Ardez?’’ 
said Dorothy kindly, and extending her hand as 
she spoke. 

"Yes, I am your cousin and cousin to your 
daughter,” and he held out his hand to Dorris, 
after giving that of Dorothy a cordial shake. 

"Uncle Nicholas and all the rest of us are glad 
you have come,” he said as he took the chair Doro- 
thy offered. "I hope you were glad to come, and 
Cousin Dorris was glad to come,” turning to Dor- 
ris, whose hand was yet tingling from his strong 
grasp. 

"It is very pleasant to me to be again in my old 
home. Cousin Nicholas,” replied Dorothy; "of 
course, all is strange to Dorris, but I am hoping 
she will in time like Switzerland as well as she 
loves Italy.” 

"Uncle Nicholas said to tell you he would come 
to see you if he was able; hut he is not, so you must 
come to see him.” 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 


57 


^^Thank you ; be is as well as usual^ I hope 

^^Ob, he is only lame, which one must expect of 
an old soldier wounded in the leg/^ 

have often told Dorris of the lovely violets 
your grandmother had in the windows that looked 
out on the balcony ; are there any growing there 
now ?” 

“That I don’t know/’ replied Nicholas, stolidly.. 
“Ursel is all the time dragging flower-pots in and 
out, but whether they have violets in them I can’t 
say.” 

“Who is Ursel, Nicholas ?” asked Dorris. 

“She is our old housekeeper, and there is plenty 
for her to do in a large house like ours, besides 
others from the village to help her by the day.” 

“I suppose it is much larger than our house on 
Mont Eosso?” 

“I should think so,” replied the young man, 
rather scornfully ; “it is not likely that any houses 
in the hamlets there could equal ours, when Ardez 
and Schuls can’t show another like it. It’s the finest 
place I have ever seen in all the twenty years of 
my life. Why, the stables and granaries and other 
out-buildings are almost like a village, and the cel- 
lar is finished as well as any part of the mansion, 
and has pillars like a church.” 

“I have often thought of the old church in Ardez 
and of the beautifully carved doors; I suppose 
they are still there,” remarked Dorothy. 


58 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

Yes, I suppose so ; I never noticed the doors. I 
don’t care to go there, and would not go, only uncle 
will not let me stay at home. I don’t like to stay 
in one place so long; would rather be out in the 
sunlight. I love to hear old Melchior preach, be- 
cause it is on the street corners; and, besides, I 
can understand him.” 

^^Where is Melchior now?” asked Dorothy, with 
interest. ^^Is he still gardening?” 

“Yes; he takes care of the garden and grounds 
at the Sanitarium, and at another place in Schuls 
in summer, and in winter be lives with his rela- 
tions in Sint. He was in America once when he 
was young.” 

“Yes, I remember, though I was but a child. It 
was at the time dear papa died, and I went to live 
with my mother’s relatives., I was but four years 
old, but I remember hearing them speak of Mel- 
chior sailing to America.” 

“He says he carried you on his shoulder many a 
time when you were a baby.” 

“Yes, he was always w^elcome at my father’s 
house, and grandfather and grandmother paid him 
every respect. He is a sincere Christian, always 
doing good in his humble path in life.” 

“This is only the beginning of my visits to you. 
Cousin Dorothy,” said Nicholas, rising to go; 
“when snow comes I will come and take Cousin 
Dorris out sleighing. You need not look sur- 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 59 

prised; I am in earnest. We have plenty of fine 
horses in onr stalls, as Dorris shall see when snow 
comes.” 

wish our household goods were here, Nicho- 
las, that I might offer you a cup of coffee,” said 
Dorothy. suppose it has not gone out of fash- 
ion in Schuls to offer coffee to a caller?” 

“I don't know whether it is in fashion or not, 
but I know that I would stay and take a cup of 
coffee with you if you had it. Cousin Marie said 
that she supposed you would bring your Italian 
customs with you, and have nothing to eat but 
onions and macaroni. I hate them both, but any 
time you offer coffee I will stay.” 

“Tell Aunt Marie that 'we have other things in 
Italy besides onions and macaroni,” said Dorris as 
he passed out the door; “she should see the mar- 
rowy chestnuts that grow on Mont Rosso and the 
clusters of juicy, purple grapes.” 

“I will tell her,” answered Nicholas, smiling 
and thereby showing two row’s of large, strong 
white teeth, and he shook the small hand of Dorris 
and departed. 

“Nicholas is a good boy,” said Dorothy, as they 
returned to the broad window seat in the parlor, 
which they preferred to the chairs left there by 
Marie; “be has not seen much of the world, and, 
of course, is not so broad-minded as those who 
have traveled.” 


60 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

^^But why need all our relatives think there are 
only substantial comforts to be found here, and 
speak so slightingly of Italy?’' 

do not wonder at Nicholas thinking this, for 
his uncle is a great land owner,” replied her 
mother. ^They have everything needed in their 
way of living, and Nicholas would consider our 
simple home on Mont Rosso very poor indeed.” 

“But we did not live a poor life, mamma. We 
were richer than Nicholas with all his wealth of 
land. We lived a beautiful life, especially when 
dear papa was with us.” 

“Truly we did,” replied Dorothy, her beautiful 
e5^es filling with tears. “But, Dorris, the time 
passed here lives in my memory as does that passed 
in Italy. It does not appear strange to me as to 
you, for my childhood days and a year of happy 
girlhood are associated with my father and his rela- 
tives, and all were kind and indulgent to me.” 

Three days passed, and mother and daughter 
had made a complete transformation in the old 
house. It was really a comfortable home, made 
bright with the pretty things they had brought 
from the cottage on Mont Rosso, the handsome 
paintings they had kept in remembrance of the 
husband and father, among them the view of the 
old home on the North Sea, and their blooming 
plants. 

They had been so busy adjusting their belong- 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 61 

ings that there had been no time to think of study, 
but when all was completed Dorothy went to see 
the pastor to ask his religious instruction for Dor- 
ris, and also his ad'vice as to a teacher to whom 
could be intrusted the continuance of the education 
for which, a good foundation had been laid by Herr 
Maurizius and continued by Dorothy. 

He promised to attend to both requests, and 
called the next day. He was gratified to find that 
Dorris had been thoroughly and faithfully trained 
in the Christian life, could answer all questions in- 
telligently, and was a conscientious girl, who earn- 
estly desired to perform to the best of her ability 
all the duties which devolved upon her. It was 
decided that she should read the good books he 
loaned her from his library, and at the coming and 
near communion should unite with the church. 

He had! also spoken for a teacher for her, and it 
was arranged that for two hoTirs each morning she 
was to be one of a class of girls which met at the 
cottage of a widow in Schuls, who was known as a 
competent teacher. 

Occupied with these pleasant duties, and in the 
society of her loved, companionable mother, time 
never hung heavily upon the hands of Dorris ; the 
autumn glided away and winter was upon them, 
and she scarcely noticed the change from that of 
winters beside Lake Maggiore. 

Her mother’s relatives were kind to her in their 


62 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

way, their only grievance being that she did not 
visit them so frequently as they desired. 

One of their customs which did not meet with 
the views of Dorris was that of a meeting of rela- 
tives and friends at the houses of her Uncle Mat- 
thias or Jacob every Sunday afternoon. That they 
had been to church in the morning was sufficient 
excuse for Katharine and Marie to invite their ac- 
quaintances from neighboring villages to supper; 
whereupon much preparation was of necessity 
made, and the Sabbath not spent in the way to 
which Dorris and her mother had been accustomed, 
and they declined to accept the invitations. 

^^Dorris carries her head a little too high, and 
looks down upon us and our ways, and Dorothy, as 
usual, has no mind of her own, but must follow her 
lead,” said Marie, angrily, after one of these re- 
fusals* 

^^The girl would rather sit in her room like a 
cloistered nun and read religious books,” replied 
Katharine. never did care to see an old head 
upon young shoulders.” 

“Ko, and she has no right to set herself up as 
being better than we are. If we had games and 
other amusements as some families do she might 
have reason to refuse to come, but when we only 
laugh and talk and enjoy a good supper, where is 
the fault, especially as we all go to church in the 
morning ?” 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 63 

Their dissatisfaction increased as time passed 
on, and. they finally complained of Dorris to her 
mother. 

^^No, no; do not consider it pride in her/^ said 
Dorothy. ^^She is but a child, and has no thought 
of setting up her opinion against her elders. She 
is glad to visit her grandmother and all of you, 
and often speaks of your kindness to her; but she 
prefers reading the books the pastor gave her to 
visiting on Sunday afternoons, and is happier to 
pass the day as she has always been accustomed in 
our Italian home.^^ 

The first visit of Nicholas was by no means his 
last ; not a week passed that he was not there twice 
if not three times, alwaj^s remaining to supper. 

^TJncle almost always worries if I stay after 
dark, but I can stay until then,^^ he would say, 
and Dorris would light her night lamp and go to 
her room to prepare the morrow’s lessons. 

One evening she excused herself the moment 
supper was finished; whereat Nicholas was so of- 
fended that he resolved not to go again ; but a day 
or so after a deep snow fell, and his resentment was 
forgotten. By Sunday morning the sun shone 
brightly, the air was tempered, the sleighing not 
to be surpassed, and Nicholas rose earlier than 
usual, and passed back and forth between the 
house and stables with such pre-occupied air and 


64 Dorris and Her Mountain Home, 

appeared' so full of business that it attracted the at- 
tention of his uncle. 

^^What is going on?” he asked. “I heard you 
working with the sleigh bells.” 

large sleighing party is made up to go to 
Zernez; she will see herself for once driving be- 
hind a pair of handsome horses.” 

^‘Who is she?” inquired the old man. 

^‘Our new cousin in Schuls, whom you have not 
seen.” 

^‘^It seems to me that you are seeing the new 
cousin often enough for both/^ commented his 
uncle. 

^^One should pay her some attention,” said Nich- 
olas, sullenly ; “she knows no one here except our 
young cousins in Schuls, and they never think of 
her.” 

“You must bring her to see me; it is not likely 
that I will be able to go to see her.” 

“I will if she can spare time from her books ; it 
appears to me that she thinks of nothing but 
books,” and his face clouded. 

At length all preparations were made, the glossy, 
well-fed horses champed their bits, the handsome 
sleigh was gay with brilliant robes, and the many 
bells tingled merrily in the clear morning air. 

The short distance was soon traversed, and with 
a flourish Nicholas drew up before the cottage of 
Dorothy. He sprang out and knocked, but there 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 65 

was no response. He knocked louder with like re- 
sult, and then tried the door, but found it locked. 

^‘There is nobody at honie,’^ said an old woman 
who happened to be passing. “They went to 
church; I saw them go; they go every Sunday.’^ 

“I did not suppose it was church time,^’ said 
Nicholas, chagrined and disappointed; “I expected 
to get here earlier. Well, I will drive to Sint, and 
be back in half an hour.’’ 

Dorothy and her daughter had in the mean time 
enjoyed the service and were walking home, dis- 
cussing the points of the good sermon, thus im- 
pressing it upon their minds, when they heard the 
sound of bells, and, turning, saw Nicholas, who 
beckoned to them to halt, and sprang from the 
sleigh and stood beside them. 

“Come, Cousin Dorris,^^ said he, “there is a 
sleighing party going to Zernez, about twenty 
sleighs, and a lively company of young people, and 
you will get acquainted with them all. The sleigh- 
ing is so perfect that it is a joy to glide over it. 
Step in, Dorris, and leDs be off.^^ 

“No, Cousin Nicholas, I thank you, but I will 
stay at home.^^ 

“What!” exclaimed Nicholas, “has the pastor 
forbidden your going anywhere on Sunday?” 

“No, he has said nothing to me nor I to him in 
regard to it, but I do not wish to go an 3 rwhere to- 
day.” 


66 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

^^Cousin Dorothy, have you no rule over her? 
Can you not command her to go with me T’ 

‘^jSTo, Nicholas, I approve of the stand she has 
taken. We have never been accustomed to going 
pleasuring upon the Sabbath, believing it to be 
displeasing to our Heavenly Father ; it is his holy 
day., We thank you for wishing to give Dorris 
pleasure, but she cannot go.^^ 

Nicholas sprang into the sleigh, drew the lines 
upon the spirited horses, and in an instant was out 
of sight, while Dorothy and Dorris passed on to 
their home. 

The next morning Nicholas paid a visit to 
Grandmother Durant, and Marie, who had from 
her window seen him enter, was on the point of 
starting out to see what his errand might be, when 
Katharine, with her apron over her head, looked in 
at the door. 

“Come over to grandmother’s,^^ said she; “Nich- 
olas is there; he has something on his mind, I am 
sure.” 

Marie was not slow to obey ; so the two followed 
directly in the wake of Nicholas, and stood by 
Grandmother Durant as he complained of the ill- 
treatment he had received from his new cousin. 

“It is Dorothy’s fault,” said Marie, sharply; 
“she alwa}’s held herself above us, and staid away 
from us, and is training her daughter in the same 
way.” 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 67 

said Katharine, coming to the help of 
Marie, ^^they both act as if they did not care to 
associate with our friends. They are too good to 
come to our houses to supper on Sunday, and, of 
course, Nicholas, you cannot be surprised if Dorris 
refuses to go to a sleighing party with you.^’ 
^^Dorris is right,” said Grandmother Durant; 
^‘she is growing into a God-fearing woman, as was 
her mother and grandmother before her. I have 
always thought that your way of spending the af- 
ternoons of the blessed Sabbath not the right way, 
but it was the way you had been trained in your 
homes, and now that you are in homes of your own 
it comes natural to you to have your acquaintances 
gather about you on Sunday. It may be that the 
dear child is the one appointed to lead us into a 
better way, and if so I for one will not complain.” 

shall never ask her to go sleighing with me 
again,” said Nicholas, angrily; ^^she will go my 
way and my day or not at all,” and he left the room 
and the house. 

He went as frequently as ever to visit the Italian 
cousin, but made no mention of the sleighing party, 
but spoke of the pleasant walks they would take 
when spring came, to which Dorris listened, but 
made no response. 


CHAPTEE VI. 


WHEN WILD ROSES ARE IN BLOOM. 

mamma, Switzerland is lovely in the 
spring,” said Dorris one bright morning in April 
as she opened the door and inhaled the pure moun- 
tain air.” 

^‘1 knew you would like it, dear, and although 
this month has tears as well as smiles it is wel- 
come,” replied her mother. 

The winter was a thing of the past; snow which 
had covered the ground for most of the time had 
melted; fresh, bright green grass and other herbage 
was appearing in valleys and on hillsides; the 
gray clouds that rested above the peak of Mont 
Pisoc were dispersed by the beams of the sun, and 
nature was rejoicing in its resurrection. 

No one rejoiced more in the passing away of 
winter than did Dorris. Her young heart thrilled 
at the song of birds, the blooming of flowers, and 
the tinkling of mountain rivulets. 

She rejoiced, too, that she could look up with the 
reverent look of a loving child to the Father who 
created all this beauty. 

She felt that she was accepted of him, was one 
of his beloved children, and after the sermon the 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 69 

following day she was to acknowledge her allegi- 
ance to him before the world. 

^^It will not be long nntil I can set my plants 
out in the ground, mamma. When we see them in 
bloom it will remind us of our terrace in the old 
home.’^ 

Mother and daughter were happily busy until 
late in the afternoon, and were sewing by the win- 
dow which looked out upon the river, when they 
saw an old man coming up the path. 

^^It is Melchior,’^ said Dorothy, a glad light in 
her eyes; ^^run, Dorris, and invite him in.^^ 

Dorris was quick to obey, and stretched her hand 
out in welcome to her mother’s old friend. 

^^The granddaughter of the good Daniel Du- 
rant,” be said with a smile, ^^and has his brilliant 
dark eyes and his and Dorothy’s kind ways ; I knew 
I would be welcome.” 

^^You are indeed,” said Dorothjq coming forward 
and clasping his hand. ^^Come in, Melchior, come 
in ; you are always welcome.” 

^^Then you knew me, Dorothy?” said he, step- 
ping in and taking the seat she offered. ^^That 
pleases me well. I thought I had faded from your 
memory. And this dear young girl also welcomed 
the old man kindly,” continued he, glancing at her. 

^^My mother’s friends are mine; I have often 
heard her speak of you,” replied Dorris, brightly. 


70 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

scarcely able to keep her eyes from the wreath of 
choice violets he held in his hand. 

^‘Yon are but little changed; I should have 
known you anywhere, Melchior. Your happy 
Christian life keeps you in peace, which shows in 
your cheerful countenance. I see that you are yet 
a. lover of one of God^s good gifts,” nodding to the 
wreath of violets in his hand. 

^^Yes, I kept these over winter, and have brought 
them to your daughter. I would have come before 
now to tell you how glad I am to see you back in 
your old home, but it is a long walk from Sint. I 
heard your daughter was intending to unite with 
our church to-morrow, so waited until to-day that 
I might bring the violets. Will you accept of them, 
dear, from your grandfather’s and your mother’s 
old friend ?” and he reached them to her. 

^^Indeed I will, and thank you,” said Dorris, 
eagerly. ^^They are lovely,” and she went out for 
a vase of water in which to keep them fresh. 

^Gt was kind and thoughtful in you, Melchior, to 
remember my daughter at this time, so important 
in her young life. The flowers in themselves are 
the sweetest of gifts; no one but an experienced 
gardener, and one who loves his calling, could 
bring them to such perfection.” 

^^The great Master Gardener is the one who 
brings them to perfection. I am only one of his 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 71 

instruments, and I thank him every day of my life 
that I am a gardener; it is a beautiful calling.’’ 

^^It has been a healthful one to you, Melchior; 
it astonishes me that you have changed so little in 
the eighteen years since I saw you.” 

^^Yes, every spring I am young again with my 
plants, for I am so happy in the new life about me ; 
all the green things that were hidden in the earth’s 
bosom springing out of cold and darkness into 
light and beauty, and I thank God that it keeps the 
Kisen Eedeemer ever before my eyes and mind. 
The germ of a new life is hidden away in the appa- 
rently dead seed, but I know that it will rise 
again.” 

“Do you talk to your plants as you used to do, 
Melchior?” 

“Yes,” smiled the old man; “who could help 
holding converse with them ? When I set them in 
the earth I say, ^Now, children, you must thrive 
and grow and do honor to your gardener, that the 
master may say that you are in good hands,’ and in 
the autumn when I cover them from the cold I say, 
^Stay there now, children, in the loving bosom of 
mother earth until God the Great Gardener bids 
you come forth.’ ” 

“Then your flowers are not only company for 
you, but they are food for thought,” suggested 
Dorothy. 

“Yes, all the year my plants encourage sacred 


72 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

thoughts. They tell me that I too must soon lie 
down in the bosom of dear mother earth ; and I say 
to them that the Master Gardener will see that the 
germ of a new life which is in this old body will 
rise again, and I rejoice that I am in good hands. 

Dorris had placed the violets in water and sat 
listening with eager attention to the conversation. 

^^You must have a cup of colfee with us after 
your long walk,” said Dorothy; ‘^you and Dorris 
can get acquainted while I am preparing it,” and 
she laid aside her sewing and went out. 

“You are to-morrow intending to commence a 
life of service to the Lord> Dorris,” said Melchior ; 
“are you rejoicing that you have been privileged to 
receive such instruction as our good pastor has 
given you ?” 

“Yes, I am glad over all that I have learned,” 
replied Dorris. 

“You are right; knowledge is a treasure. Will 
you do more than feast yourself upon that knowl- 
edge? Will you make it of benefit to those less 
favored ? Will you stay in the sunlight ?” 

“I don’t think I quite understand you,” said 
Dorris. 

“Which is better, my child, for a plant to stay 
in a cold, dark cellar, knowing that outside the sun 
is shining and causing all plant life to grow and 
bloom, or to go out in the sunlight where the warm 
rays will cause new life to enter all the branches 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 73 

j 

which lead to the heart, thus causing it to thrive 
and grow and be of use to the Master?” 

think the last is the best,” replied Dorris, 
though not quite sure of the application. 

‘‘I also. Xow think it out for yourself what I 
mean, Dorris ; I see you are a little puzzled.” 

‘‘I think you mean that I should live a cheerful, 
Christian life in the sunlight of God’s promises; 
that I must not make my religious life gloomy 
and repelling to others, but strive to make the fol- 
lowing of the Saviour so attractive and joyous that 
it will do work for the Master by bringing others 
to him.” 

“You are right,” said Melchior. “Who should 
be cheerful if not a Christian?” 

“I do not think I could have answered your 
question if I had not heard papa and mamma speak 
so often of cheerful Christians. Papa said we dis- 
honored our dear Lord by appearing to think his 
service a burden. We should be his faithful sol- 
diers, willing to obey bis commands with joy and 
gladness.” 

“Truly we should; and there is another way in 
which we may live as plants in a dark, cold cellar. 
We may not be mindful to seek religious influences, 
such as prayer, Bible reading, and the society of 
our fellow- Christians, thus attaining no growth 
for ourselves nor helping others by our example to 
seek the sunlight.” 


74 Donis and Her Mountain Home. 

The coffee was served and the three sat down to 
the simple meal with the pleasure which is always 
taken in the society of congenial friends. A bless- 
ing was asked, and the brown bread, sweet butter, 
stewed pears, and cheese were all that any one of 
the three craved, and for which they gave grateful 
thanks. 

‘‘Did you and Dorris become acquainted asked 
Dorothy, as she passed a second cup of coffee to 
Melchior. 

“Enough to know that we are to be good friends,” 
replied he, smiling to Dorris, who sat opposite and 
who returned the smile. 

As soon as the meal was finished Melchior set 
out upon his long walk to Sint. 

“I like Melchior better than all my relations put 
together, excepting grandmother,” was the com- 
ment of Dorris when they were again alone. 

Dorothy was somewhat startled at hearing this 
very candid opinion, and thought it best to put 
Dorris on her guard in case she might be inclined 
to make the same comparison in the presence of 
some one who might consider it her bounden duty 
to acquaint the relatives of it. 

“Melchior is an educated man and a reader,” 
said she; “his occupation takes him among cul- 
tured people; and more than all, he is an active 
Christian, searching ever for chances to do work 
for his Master. Our relations, on the other hand, 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 75 

have led narrow, restricted lives; have been what 
one might call clannish, not mingling with others 
who could give them new ideas and discuss with 
them what is going on in the land. They do not 
care for reading, and are satisfied with the chit- 
chat and gossip that rules in their little world.’^ 

^^Grandmother does seem different,” remarked 
Dorris, reflectively. 

^^Yes, for the few advantages she has had she is 
a remarkable woman. In her early days she had 
but little means and much care, but gave her sons 
the best education possible in this secluded hamlet, 
where they have lived. It seems to me that your 
uncles were brighter and more companionable in 
their earlier years than now; their wives have not 
been of help in influencing them into broader and 
more public spirited channels.” 

“Yes, dear grandmother is all right, but I can- 
not admire my aunts. They seem anxious to de- 
preciate you and make you appear of no account 
in comparison with themselves.” 

“That is in a great measure my own fault, dear ; 
I am not resolute in holding my own with them. 
I have but little self-confidence; am too easily in- 
fluenced by the opinions of others. I never was 
self-sustaining, but always inclined to lean upon 
some one stronger than myself. No words can tell 
how I missed your father, who was such a support 
and counsellor, and now that he is gone I find my- 


76 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

self as the years pass on leaning more and more 
upon you. I really do not mind the disagreeable 
ways of my aunts, for they certainly are very kind 
to us, and I hope that you will learn to like them.^^ 

^‘1 will tr}^, mamma, but I wish they would treat 
you more respectfully.” 

The whole day had been clear and beautiful, but 
before sunset dark clouds arose and were hurried 
before the high wind, the sun Avas obscured, and 
for a few minutes the earth was deluged by a storm 
of rain and hail. 

do hope that Melchior has reached home,” 
said Dorothy, anxiously. should be too sorry if 
in doing us a kindness he should get wet and take 
cold.” 

^^He could stop at some house on the way, 
mamma; any one would take an old man in out of 
the rain.” 

^^Yes, and would be entertaining an angel, and 
perhaps not unawares, for Melchior is one who al- 
Avays keeps his lamp trimmed and burning that it 
may give light to all who are in the house.” 

The storm was quickly over, the sun shone again 
brilliantly for a few minutes, then descended be- 
hind Mont Pisoc, but the air remained scented with 
the odors of budding trees and plants refreshed by 
the shower. 

The next day proA^ed to be clear and serene, ont- 
Avardly and inwardly one of the happiest Dorris 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 77 

had known in her pleasant life. Only the ^^touch 
of a vanished hand’^ was needed to make it the hap- 
piest.. She felt it to be a blessed privilege to be 
numbered among the followers of the Saviour, and 
Dorothy was no less happy. 

hope her dear papa knows it; I am sure he 
knows it,’^ was her thought during the service. ‘‘It 
was his training and example which, with Dodd’s 
blessing, made our daughter the Christian she is. 
I am sure he is rejoicing in heaven as we are upon 
earth.” 

Nicholas, too, was in cheerful mood over the 
communion and admission of Dorris into the visi- 
ble church, but from a very different reason. He 
was glad that the preparatory instruction was over 
and Dorris free to give some of her time and com- 
panionship to him. 

Jubilant over this thought, he set out for Schuls 
and the cottage by the river the next morning, filled 
with the importance of a proposition to Dorothy 
and her daughter. 

He found Marie there before him, having 
brought a letter wdiich was addressed to herself, 
but more nearly concerned Dorothy. 

“Take a seat. Cousin Nicholas,” said Dorris, 
who admitted him; “Aunt Marie has just brought 
us a letter from a gentleman, a professor in a col- 
lege in Berlin, who is a guest at the Sanitarium 


78 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

during Ms vacation, and wishes to lodge in our two 
spare rooms/^ 

^'What does he want of two rooms?’’ inquired 
Nicholas; ^^he can’t sleep in but one at a time, un- 
less he changes about in the night.” 

^^He needs more than a place simply to snore in, 
as you do, Nicholas,” quoth Marie, sharply; ^^the 
Professor is a gentleman and scholar, and stays in 
his room reading and writing most of the day, so, 
of course, wishes a fresh one to sleep in, as any 
simpleton should know.” 

'^Why can’t he stay with his family in vacation, 
instead of bothering here?” commented Nicholas, 
sullenly. 

^^He has no family except two motherless little 
boys, who are with their mother’s relatives.” 

‘^Oh, I know who he is,” ejaculated Nicholas; 
‘ht is Professor StrahL. Why didn’t you say so at 
first ?” 

^^It didn’t strike me that it was absolutely neces- 
sary to inform you, seeing that jou are not the one 
to whom he has applied for rooms,” replied Marie 
in a sarcastic tone.. 

^^That doesn’t keep me from knowing Mm,” re- 
joined Nicholas. 

Marie deigned to waste no more words upon him. 
She turned to Dorothy. “There is nothing to hin- 
der you from letting Dr. Strahl have the rooms,” 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home, 79 

she said. ^^You don’t need them, with no one here 
but you and Dorris.” 

^^]Sro> we can spare them well; and as you and 
Uncle Jacob are well acquainted with him, you 
know that he is a person that I could feel satisfied 
to take into our home.” 

^‘To be sure. If he is good enough for us, he is 
good enough for you. We had plenty of room for 
him and have three boys. He pays well and is no 
trouble to anybody.” 

‘‘But, Aunt Marie, he wrote to you, thinking 
you were still in this house; he does not know that 
there are new people here whom he might not like. 
We must tell him this; it would not be right to 
keep him in ignorance of it.” 

“What difference is that to him whether you or I 
run the house? The rooms are here, and that is 
what he is asking for. All there is to do is to keep 
them in order. He goes to the Sanitarium every 
morning at 10, and sta}^ two hours; and you have 
all that time to fix his rooms, and slow as you are I 
think you ought to manage to get them in order in 
that time., He goes to the hotel in Schuls for his 
meals, so you will have no bother about his board. 
He goes quietly in and out, and except a courteous 
greeting from him if you chance to meet on the 
stairs or in the hall you will hear no speech of 
him.” 

“And he has eyes like gimlets, which bore 


80 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

through you and come out at the hack/^ interloped 
Nicholas, who had revived from the last thrust 
given him by Marie, and now laughed boisterously 
at his own wit. 

^^Nicholas sometimes hits the mark,^^ commented 
Marie. “Yes, the Doctor has the most piercing 
eyes I have ever seen.’^ 

“What does Grandmother Durant say to my 
giving him the two rooms questioned Dorothy. 

“She says if you care to take any one into your 
family there is no one who would suit you better 
than Dr. StraM.^^ 

“And you, Dorris ; what do you say ?” asked her 
mother, anxiously. 

“I say yes, mother; he will be company for us 
and very little trouble.’^ 

This reply decidied Dorothy, calling forth a 
sneering smile from Marie, although the opinion 
of Dorris coincided exactly with her own. 

“Well, I suppose that settles it,’^ commented she, 
briskly; “so I will go home; are you going with 
me, Nicholas, or are you intending to be a fixture 
herer 

“Which ever pleases me best. Cousin Marie; I 
think to be a fixture here most agreeable,’^ and he 
settled himself back in his chair with his hands 
deep in his pockets. 

“What have yen in mind, Nicholas?’^ asked 
Marie with alert curiosity. 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 81 

have t\Vo things in mind, Cousin Marie; one 
is not to go home with 3 'ou and the other is not to 
leave this spot until Cousin Dorothy tells me what 
day she and Dorris will come to Ardez to pay uncle 
a visit, that I may drive over for them/^ 

‘^We can walk there some pleasant day, Nicho- 
las ; it is not worth while for you to trouble to drive 
here for us^” said Dorothy. 

‘Teople who cannot ride must walk, but this is 
not the case with you,^^ he replied, jingling the 
loose coin in his pocket with the air of a very 
wealthy person indeed; ^^so let us hear no more of 
walking, when there are spans of fat horses in the 
stalls suffering for exercise.” 

^‘You can settle that matter among yourselves; 
I am out of it,” said Marie, opening the door pre- 
paratory to departing, ' out one thing I would ad- 
vise, Dorothy, and that is to let him come for you, 
for one can see that he is worrpng for a chance to 
show off his fine horses.” 

^‘Uncle thinks you should have said something 
about coming before this,” remarked Nicholas as 
soon as the door closed behind Marie. ^^He says 
he thinks you have been slow about paying Mm 
this attention.” 

^^It is natural to suppose that he should be the 
one to make the first call, seeing that we are the 
strangers and he an old resident,” suggested Dor- 


ns. 


82 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

^^You forget, cousin, that he is an old man and 
is lame from being wounded when he was a soldier. 
He always harps upon that wound when he don’t 
want to go to places. But he is always wondering 
what you and Dorris look like, and I have de- 
scribed you until I am tired, so now I want him to 
see you and judge for himself.” 

^^But would it not be better to wait a little 
longer. Cousin Nicholas?” asked Dorris. ‘^Mamma 
has often told me how beautiful the country is be- 
tween Schuls and Ardez, and I would like to see it 
at its best, as I am sure would mamma.” 

^^Yes, dear, in next month the wild flowers will 
be in bloom, the mountains will be green, and the 
meadows and flelds beautiful,” assented Dorothy; 
‘Ve will go then.” 

^^And I am to come for you with my best span of 
horses ?” asked Nicholas, eagerly. 

“Yes, if you will insist upon being so kind. We 
thank uncle heartily for the invitation and you 
for being willing to come for us.” 

“But you must set a day for me to come or I 
will not move off this chair if it takes until this 
time to-morrow to make up your minds.” 

Dorothy said nothing; she looked to Dorris to 
reply. 

“Mamma has often spoken of the beauty of the 
wild roses that run over the ruins of the old castle 


Doriis and Her Mountain Home. 83 

of Ard^ez,” said she ; ^Vhen they are in bloom come 
for us and we will go.” 

‘‘Yes,” echoed Dorothy, with a glad remem- 
brance of the wild roses, “come then, Nicholas, 
and we will go,” and Nicholas arose and went away 
smiling in supreme satisfaction. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE DURANTS IN COUNCIL. 

Dorothy replied to the letter of Dr. Strahl, ex- 
plaining that she was the niece of Herr Jacob 
Durant, was now owner of the cottage, and if he 
}’et desired to come the rooms were at his service. 
His reply came promptly, saying he would come, 
and in a few days he took possession, happy to be 
in a place to which he was accustomed, and feeling 
that he was at home with the intelligent and agree- 
able relatives of Jacob Durant. 

He took his morning walk, then returned to his 
books, and, as Marie had said, was no trouble to 
any one, mother and daughter scarcely realizing 
that there was a third person under the roof. 

Dorris had written to Maja shortly after reach- 
ing Switzerland, and waited for a reply. She knew 
that Maja could not write, but wondered that the 
children whom she had taught to use the pen did 
not reply, and was on the point of writing again 
when one came from Giacomo. He wrote that all 
were well and were glad to get her letter ; that his 
father had been home from Genoa, and wanted 
Giacomo to return with him, but finding he had a 
good position with a gardening firm at Pallanza, 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 85 

did not insist. He added that he got good wages 
from the owners of the gardens, but left it in their 
bands, and they all hoped that Dorris and her 
mother would return to Mont Rosso. His father 
had expressed much surprise at the improvement 
in his children, and was deeply grateful to Frau 
^Maurizius and her daughter. 

^Ht appears to me that Giacomo is keeping some- 
thing back; he has not spoken his mind fully in 
that letter,’’ remarked Dorris when she finished. 
“Why does he not get his money from the gar- 
dener ? I know that be always tells the truth, but 
I do not believe he has told us all.” 

“Giacomo is not accustomed to letter writing, as 
}'Ou see he has not entered into details on any sub- 
ject.” 

“I will run over and read the letter to grand- 
mother; she is always glad to see me.” 

“Do, dear child ; 1 am glad you are going of your 
own accord ; I have always to suggest it as a duty.” 

Dorris put on her sun hat and went out softly 
singing : 

“Red clouds in the heavens, 

White foam upon the sea, 

And beautiful, oh beautiful. 

Is the whole world to me.” 

Her grandmother was indeed glad to see her and 
to listen to the letter, which Dorris had scarcely 


86 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

finished when Nicholas walked in with a half-open 
rose in his hand, which he held out to Dorris. 

‘^Oh, it is beautiful,” she said; ‘Vhere did you 
get it?” 

^^Yes, where, I wonder? Where did I tell you 
that wild roses grew ? I suppose you have forgot- 
ten also that you are to visit us when the roses are 
in bloom on the castle of Ardez, or, as I should 
say, the ruins of the castle of Steinberg?” 

“Yes,” nodded Grandmother Durant, “she will 
go, Nicholas, and see for herself the fine, large 
house you have there, the vineyards, the orchards, 
and beautiful grounds. She will be so interested 
in the beauty of the place that she will never think 
of the ruins and wild roses.” 

“I will go home now, grandmother,” said Dorris. 
“Cousin Nicholas may wish to chat with you, and 
my visit was about over when he came.” 

But no ; Nicholas had come to see Dorothy about 
the visit. He arose and accompanied her home, 
and it was decided that they should go the follow- 
ing day, and then Nicholas returned to Ardez. 

The next morning he was there at the appointed 
time with a fine carriage and handsome pair of 
spirited horses, and, Dorothy and Dorris being 
ready, they soon reached the substantial residence 
of their Uncle Nicholas, who met them at the door 
and welcomed them cordially. 

“And this is Dorothy — Daniel’s daughter?” he 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 87 

said ; ^'and Dorris, his granddaughter ? The family 
need not be ashamed to own her: she is a hand- 
some girl/^ 

The old housekeeper, Ursel, came in to greet the 
guests, then hurried back to the dinner, now near- 
ing completion. She soon returned with a damask 
linen table cloth in hand, and Dorris sprang up 
and offered to assist. 

^^Just tell me where the dishes are,^^ she said, 
^^and I will set the table for you.” 

Ursel showed her appreciation of the offer by 
opening china closets and pointing out the ware to 
be used, and Dorris arranged all deftly and quickly, 
aided by some suggestions from the uncle, who 
loved to watch her flitting about the great room, as 
did young Nicholas. 

^^An active, useful girl,” he commented. see, 
Dorothy, that you are training her right.” 

^TTes, I wish her to know every branch of wo- 
man's work; but tell me, uncle, have you yet the 
beautiful violets which were in the windows on 
the balcony ?” 

don’t know; we will have to ask Ursel.” 

'^And the wild roses, uncle,” added Dorris. 
^^Mamma has often told me how beautiful they are. 
We are to go to see them this afternoon.” 

^'Stay with us, Dorris,” said the old man ; ^^you 
can have roses at any time, but not good company 
like ours.” 


88 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

not the wild roses that mamma saw grow- 
ing on the ruins/^ 

^^What ruins is she speaking of?’’ inquired the 
uncle, turning to Nicholas. 

“She means the old castle of Steinberg.” 

“We will persuade her to save that for another 
visit ; it will be an inducement for her to come here 
again.” 

“But I am afraid they will be gone; they are in 
bloom now; Nicholas brought us one.” 

“But it is too early for them, child; he must 
have gotten that from some conservatory.” Where- 
upon Nicholas laughed aloud. 

“I did not tell her it was a wild rose,” he said ; 
“I only showed it to her and reminded her that 
she had promised to come when the wild roses were 
in bloom.” 

“Deception,” commented Uncle Nicholas; “a 
falsehood is a falsehood, no matter what the temp- 
tation m'ay be ; and I acknowledge it was a tempta- 
tion, for it cannot but be lonely here for you, Nich- 
olas. It will not be long until all roses are in 
bloom, and I hope they will come and pay us a 
long visit.” 

Dinner was now served, and was a triumph of 
culinary skill ; they sat long at the table, and in a 
short while after returning to the parlor it was 
time to go to Schuls. 

Their Uncle Nicholas was so happy and cheered 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 89 

by the visit that he was anxious for them to prom- 
ise they would come at least once a week, but Doro- 
thy assured him that she could not allow her 
Cousin Nicholas to come for them so often, and 
after several delays on his part to keep them longer 
the conveyance was at the door and they were 
driven home at sunset, both glad to be again in 
their own little home. 

A new impetus w^as given to the visits of Nicho- 
las after that time. He called every day, some- 
times walking from Ardez, but more frequently in 
a light carriage to take Dorris out for a drive, an 
invitation which she always declined. He appeared 
to have something upon his mind, and one day in- 
stead of inviting Dorris to take a drive he spoke 
for Dorothy. 

^^Uncle wants to see you upon some business, and 
I have come for you,^^ he said. 

^^On business?” echoed Dorothy. ^^Is Dorris to 
go?” 

^^No, only you; he will see Dorris later,” and he 
smiled a satisfied smile. 

Wonderingly Dorothy prepared for the drive, 
and when she reached Ardez found the old gentle- 
man on the porch to receive her. 

‘‘1 thought you would come,” he said, ^^although 
you do not know the good fortune that is in store 
for you. Come in while I tell you.” 

Dorothy followed him into the parlor, took the 


90 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

chair he offered, and waited to hear what he had to 
say. 

am an old and feeble man, Dorothy, he 
averred, ^'and may soon be called hence, and wish 
to benefit Daniel’s daughter before I go. I want 
yon to give np your cottage and come and live here. 
Nicholas will be lonely after I am gone, and wishes 
no company but Dorris and yourself. Dorris shall 
be co-heir with Nicholas in this estate and all I 
possess, share and share alike. Nicholas is rich 
without it, having inherited all the property of his 
father, being the only child. I pray that you will 
gratify an old man’s perhaps last request.” 

don’t know what to say,” replied Dorothy; 
am bewildered by the proposition. I must con- 
sult with Dorris.” 

^^There is no need of putting it off for Dorris to 
decide,” commented Nicholas, coming in at that 
moment and taking a seat near them ; ^^you cannot 
expect a girl of her age to know what is best for 
her.” 

''She is my counsellor in all things since I lost 
my husband,” replied Dorothy, with tears filling 
her eyes. 

^^She is worthy to consult,” said Uncle Nicholas, 
sincerely, ^^and owing to coming business arrange- 
ments I wish to know in three days what you will 
do, and can only hope you will accept my offer.” 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 91 

‘‘But our cottage, uncle ; what would we do about 
it?^^ 

“I can rent it for you at a good price; you will 
have no care about it or anything else, but both of 
you have every comfort as long as you live.” 

“I will consult with Dorris,” said the mother, 
rising to go. 

“Consult grandmother and Cousin Marie and 
Cousin Katharine, if you want advice that will 
benefit Dorris,” advised Nicholas, curtly. 

“Why, do they know of this?” asked Dorothy, 
dropping back into her seat. 

“Well, if you must go> Cousin Dorothy, I am 
ready to take you,” said Nicholas quickly, to con- 
ceal his embarrassment at her question, and bid- 
ding her Uncle Nicholas good-bye, they were soon 
on their way. 

“I will wait until you have talked with Dorris 
and can tell Uncle Nicholas what she says, which 
I know will be ‘yes and thank you, too,^ ” suggested 
Nicholas when they reached the cottage gate. 

“No; I would rather have you call the next time 
you come to see grandmother,” replied Dorothy. 
“Dorris must have time to think it over,” and 
Nicholas had to be content. 

Dorris soon convinced her mother that there need 
be no time lost in considering the matter; she re- 
fused absolutely to listen to such a proposition, and 
Dorothy^s heart grew light at hearing it. 


92 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

“I was so afraid you would see it in a different 
way; such a splendid home would be a strong 
temptation to many girls,” she said, eagerly. 

‘^It is none for me, with Cousin Nicholas thrown 
into the bargain,” said Dorris, and then both 
laughed gleefully — ^glad that there was no need to 
think of it again. Dorothy rejoiced that it was not 
left to her to decide; she dreaded responsibility. 

The next morning Dorris sat by the window 
which looked upon the river, sewing in hand. Her 
gaze rested upon Mount Pisoe, with dun clouds 
about it, and compared it with the sun-kissed Mot- 
terone, which lifted its peak to a sky of brilliant 
blue, and wondering if at that moment Giacomo, 
Benedetto, or Marietta were looking upon it or 
thinking of her. 

Seeing her happily employed, Dorothy threw a 
veil over her golden hair and went over to pass a 
little while with her grandmother. As she went by 
the dwelling of her Uncle Jacob, Marie, who was 
by the window, called to her, and then ran out, 
tying the strings of her bonnet as she walked along. 

“That child Dorris is the most fortunate girl T 
know,” she said. “Are you not delighted ? Nicho- 
las called last evening and told us all about it.” 

“What could he have told you ?” asked Dorothy, 
anxiously. “I was just going to tell grandmother 
of my visit yesterday to Uncle Nicholas.” 

“Yes, of course, she should be the first to hear 


1 


From Dorris’ Window. 







t • 


I 








4 J • 

% 

•%r 





^ < 

“ .Tr 










Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 93 

the good news from you. I know her opinion al- 
ready.” 

‘‘Welcome, Dorothy!” exclaimed the old lady, 
graciously. “I was sure you would come to-day to 
talk over the good fortune of Dorris.” 

Dorothy dropped into a seat, her heart heavy 
with anxiety. 

“Yes, I know that your heart is so full that you 
can scarcely believe your own happiness, much less 
speak of it. What a beautiful prospect for dear 
Dorris ! How would Daniel rejoice to see his 
granddaughter mistress of that elegant home !” 

“Grandmother,” said Dorothy, trembling with 
excitement, “I hope Nicholas did not tell you that 
the matter was settled. Dorris has not said that 
she would go.” 

“What !” exclaimed Katharine, who had followed 
Marie; “are you in your senses, Dorothy?” 

“I have no right to decide for Dorris,” said Frau 
Maurizius, tearfully. 

“But, Dorothy,” interposed Grandmother Du- 
rant, quietly, “Dorris is too young to decide such 
an important question — one that makes or mars 
her and your whole life. It is your duty to decide 
for her.” 

“Yes,” added Marie, “if she has no better sense 
than to throw away her life’s liappiness, she should 
be made to take the advice of older people. If you 
do not insist upon her accepting this offer of Uncle 


94 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

Nicholas, believe me the time will come when she 
will reproach you bitterly for not advising her for 
her and your real good/^ 

^‘You will not live forever on the earth,” inter- 
posed Katharine, ‘^and when grandmother and 
Uncle Nicholas and all we older ones are gone, who 
will take care of Dorris ? It is something for a 
girl who has neither father or brother to know that 
there will always be a full larder without any effort 
of her own.” 

^‘Dorris has never set her heart upon mere 
earthly possessions,” returned Dorothy, timidly. 

^That is exactly the trouble,” exclaimed Katha- 
rine, decidedly; ‘^she has always been so carefully 
provided for that she does not know what it is to 
want for anything, but if you were taken from her 
she would soon find out that it is hard for a girl to 
make her way in life., She has been brought up in 
a foreign country and kept away from her relatives, 
and now has no affection for them. We warned 
you when you married Maurizius that he would 
separate you from all your friends here.” 

never regretted for one moment going with 
him,” said Dorothy, the tears running down her 
fair cheeks. 

“Oh, well, there is no need to call up the past,” 
interposed Grandmother Durant gently, ^Tjut we 
will say that your Uncle Nicholas is old, and may 
never again make the offer, and if you let this op- 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 95 

portunity of a lifetime pass it will not be two years 
until you will both regret it, and you will reproach 
yourself that you did not advise her better.” 

^^What is to become of her, Dorothy, when you 
are gone, that is what I would like to know?” ques- 
tioned Marie. ^^Matthias and Jacob have enough 
to do to provide for their own children, and Dorris 
does not take to new people; she holds her head 
too high, so they do not trouble themselves about 
her.” 

^^ou should not say that of her,” said the mo- 
ther, tearfully; *^she is a loving, dutiful daughter, 
and kind and polite to everybody.” 

^^Sbe is all that,” commented the grandmother, 
^^and will do as you advise even against her own 
wishes, so you should advise her for her own good. 
Let me have a talk with her, Dorothy ; I can place 
the matter in its true light, and am sure she will 
be influenced for the right. If I did not have love 
for her and interest in her as my son Daniel’s 
granddaughter I would not waste words upon her, 
for, as you know, I am not much given to speech.” 

Dorothy felt relieved that the responsibility 
would in a measure be lifted from her. She prom- 
ised to send Dorris, and went home, her faithful 
and tender heart filled with conflicting emotions. 

^^Well, the great conference is over,” said Dorris, 
laughingly, as she met her at the door ; ^^now that 
affair is settled for aU time.” 


96 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 


Dorris, if you would not treat such an i-m.' 
portant subject so lightly I would not feel so dis- 
heartened,” said her mother with trembling voice. 

^‘But, dear mamma, you have no cause for 
anxiety. We are happy together ; so happy that we 
wish no change.” 

^‘Your grandmother is right; 5^ou do not realize 
the value of the opportunity you are letting slip 
from you. If you had heard her words — they were 
golden; and I fear with her that the time will come 
when you will bitterly regret your decision. When 
I am gone, and your Uncle Nicholas is gone, and 
your other relatives fail to interest themselves in 
your welfare, you will stand alone in the world — 
no father, no mother, no brother or sister. Oh, my 
heart aches when I think of it all.” And she wept 
without restraint. 

^^Mamma, dear, what have they said to distress 
you so?” cried Dorris, taking her mother in her 
strong young arms and kissing her tenderly. ^^Do 
not think about it one moment. I will go and have 
a talk with the whole set; they will not frighten 
me as they have frightened you. You will see that 
the clouds will pass by when I have had my say.” 

^^Yes, it would be better for you to go, dear; 
your grandmother does take kind interest in you, 
and it is no more than right that you should listen 
to her advice,” 


CHAPTEE YIII. 


ANOTHER VISIT TO UNCLE NICHOLAS. 

When Dorris bad' anything to do it was done 
promptly. She went that very afternoon to see 
her grandmother and settle the matter then and 
there. 

As she passed the dwelling of her Uncle Jacob 
she saw her Aunt Marie sitting as upright as an 
iron shaft at the window, but did not halt to con- 
verse. 

^^Welcome, Dorris,” exclaimed the old lady cor- 
dially, for Dorris looked so bright and cheerful 
that she was sure she had decided to accept the 
offer of her Uncle Nicholas. ‘‘Have you decided 
what day to leave your cottage for the elegant home 
at Ardez ?” 

“I do not intend to leave it for Ardez, grand- 
mother. Mamma and I are happy where we are.” 

“Your speaking so rashly proves that you need 
some one older and wiser to choose what is best for 
you.” 

“Being young and inexperienced is something 1 
cannot help, grandmother,” replied Dorris, respect- 
fully, “but if I were ten years older and ten times 


98 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

wiser I should never agree to sharing with Cousin 
Nicholas in the property of our uncle/^ 

“You have always lived such a poor life, Dorris, 
that you do not know the happiness it is to have 
abundance and be free from poverty, which always 
brings care.” 

“Oh> grandmother, you are so mistaken in think- 
ing we lived a poor life; no people on earth could 
live happier than we did on Mont Rosso.” 

“You were too young to know your needs. You 
were living from hand to mouth ; your living had 
no solid foundation; it was only what your father 
could get from the sale of his pictures and the little 
your mother inherited from her parents. They had 
a poor life, but your mother willed it so when she 
left all her relatives and friends to marry an 
artist.” 

“I was not too young to know that mamma lived 
one of the happiest of lives. When papa lived we 
read and sang together and took lovely rambles 
over Mont Rosso, and under the shade of the trees 
we would boil the great mealy chestnuts to eat with 
our lunch of white rolls, sweet butter, and luscious 
grapes. Oh, grandmother, when I think of those 
happy times I cannot keep from shedding tears.” 

This result was not at all what the old lady had 
planned. To revive longings for the Italian home 
was not advancing the interests of the Durants, 
and she hastened to change the subject. 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 99 

^‘Tbese recollections of your childhood will give 
place to others more suitable for your years, dear 
Dorris,” she said ; ^^in the mean time I have a pro- 
position to make to you. To-morrow afternoon 
your Uncle Jacob will take me to visit your Uncle 
Nicholas, who will be alone and lonely, for Nicho- 
las will be at a cattle fair at Zemez. I wish you 
and yeur mother to go with us, and will take no 
denial. Handsome spans of horses and elegant 
carriages such as your Cousin Nicholas has are not 
at our command, but Jacob’s plain carriage and 
one horse will answer for the time.” 

Dorris thanked her grandmother, glad to get 
away upon such easy terms, and, promising to be 
ready for the visit, hurried home. 

^^What is the result?” asked Dorothy, meeting 
her at the door and almost holding her breath in 
anxiety for the reply. 

visit for us to Ardez to-morrow afternoon 
and for Cousin Nicholas to the fair at Zernez,” 
laughed Dorris, gleefully. 

Dorothy was rejoiced to see her cheerful, but her 
own heart was filled with unrest ; she saw, if Dorris 
did not, that her grandmother had not given the 
affair up. 

The next afternoon mother and daughter were 
ready, and the drive to Ardez was more enjoyed by 
Dorris than by the others of the party, they ap- 
pearing to be communing with their own thoughts. 


LoFC.’ 


100 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

oblivious to the song of birds and the wild flowers 
by the wayside. 

^^You must take us over your uncle’s place this 
afternoon, Jacob,” suggested the grandmother as 
they came in sight of the mansion. 

will; uncle may well be proud for one to see 
his herdis and his stables, as handsome as many 
dwellings. Ah, well, money can accomplish any- 
thing.” 

Uncle Nicholas was delighted to see them, and 
rung for Ursel to prepare coffee, and soon all were 
seated about a table abundantly supplied with the 
fine fruits and other products of the place. 

^^Brother,” said Grandmother Durant, have 
taken a notion to see all over this house to-day — 
the great dining-room with its glass- door china 
closets, the silverware and cut glass, the damask 
table linen, enough to last for generations. Then 
to the upper rooms to see the linen room with its 
piles upon piles of bed linen, the splendid blankets, 
and large, comfortable beds and the handsome 
carved furniture. We must go to the cellar, too, 
with its pillars and paved floor, and see the boun- 
tiful supplies which a provident householder keeps 
upon hand.” 

‘^Yes, yes; Ursel has the keys; she will take you 
all over the house, and Jacob will take you over 
the barns and granaries and stalls., If I were not 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home, 101 

so lame nothing would give me greater pleasure 
than to go with you/^ 

^^We will go first into the great dining-room/^ 
said Ursel with pride in showing unexpected guests 
the perfect neatness of the unused rooms, where 
not a speck of dust could be seen. 

Dorothy was filled with admiration of the ex- 
quisite china, which, with most of the silver, was 
an heirloom in her late aunt^s family ; and Dorris, 
too, was interested in the antique beauty of the 
designs and embellishments. The lower 
were all inspected and approved in a way that de- 
lighted Ursel, and would have charmed Nicholas 
had he been there to hear it. Then they went up 
the broad stairway. 

^^Where is Dorris ?” asked Grandmother Durant, 
as they paused for breath at the head of the steps. 

^^She was with us until this moment,^^ said Doro- 
thy, looking down to the hall they had Just left. 

^‘Go down, Ursel, and see if she is sitting with 
her uncle,” said the elder lady; “tell her we have 
not yet seen over the house and are waiting for 
her.” 

Ursel went, but came back with the information 
that Dorris was not anywhere to be seen. 

“Do you search for her, Dorothy,” said grand- 
mother; “I will go down and talk to brother while 
you are gone.” 

It was not often that she was vexed, but this 


102 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

time she was more; she was thoroughly displeased, 
and imparted her thoughts to her companions. 

^'We have done all we can to let Daniehs grand- 
daughter see the grand home that awaits her pleas- 
ure to accept, said she. ^^Marie is right when she 
says once a foreigner alwa}^ a foreigner. We can- 
not make an indolent, improvident Italian compre- 
hend our prudent, sensible Swiss views of living. 
Brother Nicholas has honored her by giving her a 
chance to walk in the footsteps of her notable and 
revered foremothers, and I thought a look through 
this well-filled house would advance his interests 
with her; instead she has run oft and left us to 
search for her.^^ 

The old man said nothing, for at that moment 
Dorothy came in and took a seat by the window, 
looking out anxiously. 

hope the child has met 'with no ill-luck,^^ she 
said, nervously. 

^‘She will make her o'wn ill-luck,” commented 
the old lady stiffly., 

‘Terhaps she has gone on the road to Zernez to 
meet Nicholas,” suggested Jacob. ^^She will be 
anxious to see the fine yoke of oxen he is bringing 
from the cattle market.” 

^^She cares for nothing useful ; if it were a gay- 
winged butterfly she might run to get a look at it,” 
replied Grandmother Durant, with a side glance at 
the troubled face of Dorothy. 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 103 

Silence reignedi for quite awliile, which was 
broken by the door flying open. Dorris stepped in, 
her eyes bright with delight over the armful of 
wild roses, her merry laugh subsiding when she 
glanced around upon the clouded faces of her rela- 
tives. 

Grandmother Durant glanced at Dorothy as if to 
say, ^Gt is your place to speak,^^ but the mother had 
no words. 

“Now, is it not beautiful the way you have 
treated us, Dorris ?’' inquired the old lady. “Your 
relatives wished to give you pleasure, so invited you 
to pay a visit to our honored uncle. Instead of 
showing appreciation of the kindness you ran 
away, proving yourself ungrateful and ill-man- 
nered. Particularly to your aged entertainer have 
you shown disrespect, for the young should revere 
the old; you have poorly recompensed one who has 
shown 5 ^ou more kindness than you deserve.’^ 

“You are not angry with me, are you, uncle?” 
said Dorris, going to him and clasping him about 
the neck, “d did not mean the least disrespect to 
you or to anybody. You told me that when I came 
again the wild roses on the ruins of Steinsberg 
would be ill bloom and I could gather as many as 
I wished. I thought that the best time for me to 
go was when Ursel was showing grandma over the 
house. I did not think they would miss me or care 
that I went, and I ran there and back as quickly as 


104 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

I could. I am more than sorry if you think me 
ungrateful, for 1 love you, you are so kind to me.” 

The heart of the old soldier melted like wax in 
the rays of the sun. “Yes, yes,” he said; “that is 
exactly the case., I did invite you to come when the 
wild roses were in bloom ; I forgot all about it, and 
should have thought that you had gone to gather 
them. We should not blame you, child; if all went 
wrong it was not your fault.” 

“It is now time to go home,” said Grandmother 
Durant, stiffly. “One would think you were in your 
dotage. Brother Nicholas, to be so influenced by a 
word from a child.” 

Jacob, who had been wanting to go for some 
time, soon had the carriage at the door, and they 
drove away. The way home was passed in almost 
silence; even Jacob appeared to have lost his en- 
thusiasm in regard to Nicholas and his oxen. 

“I wish you to come over to see me to-morrow, 
Dorris; I have something to say to you,” said 
grandmother, as Jacob helped her from the car- 
riage at her own door. 

“I will come in the afternoon, grandmother ; you 
know I have a reading lesson of two hours in the 
mornings with Professor Strahl.” 

The old lady made no response, but nodding a 
curt good evening, walked up the steps of her 
house, and Jacob took Dorothy and her daughter 
to their cottage. 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 


105 


‘^Mamma/^ said Dorris, as they sat together in 
the doorway that evening, ‘^grandmother is changed 
toward me. She is not kind and affectionate to me 
as she was when we first came to Switzerland.” 

“Yet she longs only for your happiness. I am 
glad, dear, that she is willing to give you advice, 
for 1 do not know what to say. I really do not 
know what is best for you. I feel miserably un- 
settled, but afraid to advise, fearing that I will re- 
proach myself in after years.” 

The next afternoon Dorris paid the promised 
visit, and found her grandmother sitting in stately 
solitude awaiting her arrival. 

“I invited you to come, Dorris,” said she, point- 
ing to a chair which stood near her, “because I 
have something important to say. In the affair 
which has been agitating us for the past two days 
you are entirely indifferent, or are thinking only 
of yourself., Thoughtless and trilling, you are will- 
ing to throw away the chance of a lifetime, against 
the advice of every one who has an interest in your 
welfare. To your mother should be your first duty ; 
her welfare, her happiness, your first care. She is 
growing older, and has never been accustomed to 
work of any kind that will bring in a penny, nor 
have you. Y’ou have only the means to keep you 
in the most meagre way of living. If any misfor- 
tune or sickness should come your way you would 
be reduced to the extreme of poverty, if not starva- 


106 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

tion. When you see the destitution of your mother 
you can say to yourself, 'I bad it in my power to 
ward this distress from her, but I would not ac- 
cept the opportunity/ You have the chance to pro- 
vide a luxurious home for Dorothy, your mother, 
who at heart is good and noble, but who by her de- 
pendent nature is unfitted to battle with the world. 
She would sink under poverty as would a tender 
flower under a blighting frost. Now, I have had 
my say ; think over my words, not in your careless, 
indifferent way, but as one who has no one to de- 
pend upon for the actual necessaries of life.^^ 

Dorris sat perfectly still, her beautiful brown 
eyes fixed upon the face of her grandmother during 
the address. When it ended she would have spoken, 
but the old lady gave her a sign that the confer- 
ence was over, and, obeying it, she arose and left 
the room. 

*As she passed down the corridor her Aunt 
Katharine intercepted her and invited her into her 
room. 

‘‘I suppose you can spare a moment to your 
aunts?” said she. ‘^Marie is in here.” 

Dorris went in and took the seat offered. 

‘^What we wish to say to you is that if you are so 
proud that you will not accept the offer of Uncle 
Nicholas, and your mother is so weak that she will 
not use her authority to command you to accept it, 
you need not expect that a relation you have will 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home, 107 

olfer you assistance in time of want. What will be- 
come of you should your mother be taken will be of 
not the least care to us.” 

‘^A useless creature belonging to no one and 
wanted by no one,” added Marie ; “believe me, there 
will be no sympathy or compassion for you, because 
3 ^ou had a chance to be one of the most prosperous 
and honored property owners in the country and 
refused, and your poor, weak mother may well com- 
pare her lot with what it would have been had she 
been blessed by a more dutiful daughter.” 

“Can I go now?” said Dorris, trembling with 
emotion and very pale. 

“If you have heard what we had to say.” 

“Yes, I have heard,” and she opened the door 
and passed out. 

When she reached home her heart throbbed with 
pity and grief to find her mother weeping bitterly. 

“Mamma,” said she, tenderly, “why do you 
grieve so over this; it is no misfortune as was the 
loss of dear papa?” 

“That is my grief,” said she, raising her tear- 
dimmed eyes to her daughter’s face; “if papa was 
only here to advise all would be clear before us. 
My heart throbs with pride and joy when I think 
of your uncle wishing you to be mistress of that 
elegant home, with no fear of wanting for. a com- 
fort as long as you live; but it throbs with greater 
joy to think that if you do not accept his offer the 


108 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

way may some time be opened for us to go back to 
our loved home on Mont Kosso. This you could 
never do if you accept his offer, for he gives it with 
the understanding that it is to be your home for 
life.” 

“Which it shall never be, mamma; rest assured 
of that.” 

“But again, I think that grandma may be right, 
and if I am called away you will be well provided 
for.” 

“God will provide for me, mamma, if I do my 
duty to the best of my knowledge and ability.” 

“But your relations will be all against you.” 

“They are against me now; even grandmother, 
who was onee so kind ; but I have never felt that I 
belonged to them, nor do I care to belong to them. 
They are very different from you, mamma; very, 
very different.” 

“Yes, dear; years of separation have shown me 
the difference, which I did not notice so much be- 
fore I left them. Yet in their way they may be as 
near right as I in mine.” 

“It is only when I am alone with you, mamma, 
or reading to Dr. Strahl, and he explains the read- 
ings in the way papa explained them, that I feel 
really contented here. Oh, the happy days when 
papa was with us !” and the eyes of the much-tried 
Dorris overflowed with tears. 

“It grieves me to tell you something that I must 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 109 

tell you,” said her mother, ^^ut while you were out 
Dr. Strahl came in to tell me that be had received 
a letter from Berlin which makes it necessary for 
him to leave here earlier than he expected ; he will 
be here but two days longer.” 

^^Oh, mamma !” said Dorris, bitterly, ^%nd only 
a few moments ago when I walked home from 
grandmother’s I was thinking to myself how could 
I bear all this trouble with my relatives if it were 
not for my happy hours of reading and conversa- 
tion with one who is so superior in knowledge, so 
like papa in goodness, kindness, and gentleness in 
imparting his knowledge to me. And now he is 
going, and one day will pass like another — nothing 
to do in which I take interest, nothing to think of 
but the coldness of my relatives; the whole world 
empty save for you.” 

She went to her room and sat down by her win- 
dow, that the air might cool her fevered cheek. 
She had looked forward with regret to the time 
when Professor Strahl must return to his duties in 
the college, for he had assisted her in her studies 
since the second week of his residence in the cot- 
tage, the lady teacher having left Schuls. 

The Professor from his window over the porch 
had heard Dorothy and her daughter conversing in 
the soft language of Italy, and being anxious to 
perfect himself in it, had asked as a great favor 
that Dorris should read to him from her father’s 


110 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

books, and he in turn gave her two hours’ instruc- 
tion in studies she desired, especially Latin. 

And now this must all cease ; he was going away, 
and as her gaze rested upon the dark slope of Mont 
Pisoc, over which gray clouds were passing, the 
words of an old song came to her mind : 

“The old time joy, the old time joy, 

Has gone like a dream.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


A TALK WITH MELCHIOR. 

Two days passed, and Professor Strahl had bid- 
den them good-bye and set out for Berlin ; and by 
the window looking toward Mont Pisoe sat Dorothy 
and Dorris with needlework in their hands, but 
their thoughts were not upon it. 

The dutiful, affectionate heart of Dorris was 
wrung at seeing the change in her mother^s face 
since the offer of her Uncle Nicholas and the se- 
vere words of her relatives had given her so much 
anxiety. Dorris knew that the struggle in that 
loving heart was almost more than could be borne, 
and was glad that the time for settling the matter 
was almost at hand. 

^^Mamma,^^ she said, ^^did not Uncle Nicholas 
say that he would send Cousin Nicholas this after- 
noon for our answer ?” 

^^Tes; and oh, Dorris, do not decide too hastily; 
you may make the mistake of a lifetime.^^ 

‘^We have not seen Melchior for some time, 
mamma; he is gardening at the Sanitarium. I 
think I will take a walk there and see him..^^ 

^^Do, dear; the walk over the mountain will re- 
fresh you.’^ 


112 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

Dorris laid her sewing upon the broad sill of the 
window, put on her sun hat, kissed her mother 
good-bye, and walking quickly down the path to 
the bridge, she crossed it without halting to gaze at 
the water gurgling its way beneath it, went quickly 
up the slope of Mont Pisoe, and was soon entering 
the large grounds of the Sanitarium. 

She looked about, but did not see Melchior, and 
her heart was beginning to chill with disappoint- 
ment when she heard voices behind a large flower- 
ing bush and recognized one of 'them as that of 
Melchior. 

“Now, Dorris, have you come to see your old 
friend?’^ he said, pleasantly, as he halted in his 
work of spading and held out his hand to her. 

“Yes, Melchior; I have wanted to see you,^^ she 
said. 

He was not alone ; near him stood a girl talking 
volubly and scarcely waiting for his slow responses. 
She wore a nurse’s costume, and under the shade of 
a tree near by stood a child’s carriage. Dorris went 
toward it that she might not appear to be a lis- 
tener to the conversation, and saw a pale little boy, 
who was leaning forward to catch the conversation, 
and Dorris was surprised to find him an intelligent 
listener instead of the infant she had thought him. 
He put up a white, thin hand to enjoin silence. 
“I wish to hear what they are sa 3 dng,” he said. 

“No, Herr gardener,” remarked Lorette, glibly; 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 113 

reasonable creature should expect a learned 
lady like his mother to waste her time entertaining 
a cripple, i^o one would do it unless well paid for 
it.’^ 

^^But she is his mother/^ commented Melchior, 
^“^and although it could not be expected of her to 
wheel his carriage for hours, yet — ” 

“^But she is better employed,” interrupted Lo- 
rette; ^^she understands all kinds of science, such 
as learned men even have no greater knowledge, so 
people say, and gives all her time to it; and the 
doctors say her brain must have rest, and that is 
why she is here. Her husband, in the mean time, 
is traveling with their two elder boys; bright, 
healthy, handsome boys they are, not at all like this 
cripple, who, the doctors say, must live out in the 
air. What good does it do ? He is a cripple, and 
will always be one ; and his mother is glad to have 
him out of her sight.” 

^Ht is well she has such a kind care-taker,” re- 
marked Melchior, dryly.. 

The nurse knew by his look and tone that he was 
rebuking her, but before she could reply the boy 
said, excitedly: “She is not kind; she is ill-tem- 
pered, and I hate her.” 

“You see the thanks I get,” said Lorette, flush- 
ing with anger; “the miserable little cripple, I — ” 

Dorris took the carriage beyond hearing and 
stooped and kissed his forehead. 


114 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

^^1 knew it all the time/^ said the boy, with tears 
running down his cheeks; ^^Carl and Max belong 
to papa, but I belong to nobody/’ 

‘Toor child !” said Dorris, tenderly. 

“I wish you would stay with me; wheel my car- 
riage away and let Lorette have to run about to 
find me.” 

But Lorette, her chat finished, came toward 
them, and, with a show of kindness, said, '^So, Wil- 
lie, you have found a friend,” and, nodding to Dor- 
ris, drew the carriage away. 

^‘Who are they, Melchior?” inquired Dorris, af- 
ter watching them until they disappeared from 
view. 

know no more of them than what you heard 
just now. I only know that the lady is in the Sani- 
tarium for her health, and that every day the nurse 
wheels the carriage of the little boy for hours 
through the grounds. She only speaks to me when 
there is no one else to talk to.” 

^‘The poor boy ; he must have a singular mother.” 

'TTes, I have thought that; and there is some- 
thing else that I think singular, Dorris,” noting 
her pale cheeks and sad eyes. “Why do you sit in 
the cellar dungeon, knowing that outside and over- 
head the sun is shining clear and warm to bring 
joy into one’s heart?” 

Dorris remembered this comparison. Melchior 
had made it the day before her first communion—* 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home, 115 

the day he brought her the sweet violets, which she 
had always kept in remembrance of that happy 
time in her life. 

“Oh, Melchior,^^ said she, with tear-dimmed eyes, 
“if one only knew that the sun was really shining 
outside to bring warmth and joy into one^s heart; 
but even if it were, and the one in the cellar dun- 
geon has no ladder whereby to ascend, she must 
remain there.” 

“If one cannot come of her own strength, she 
must remember that there is a compassionate 
Helper, an arm strong to deliver, if she will only 
reach out her hand to him.” 

These words brought to her remembrance those 
uttered by her father during his last days upon 
earth, and also the hymn taught her by Fraulein 
von Ernstein : 

“Take my hand, oh Father dear, 

Let me know thee ever near.” 


“Yes, if one could go to her Father in heaven 
for help in a trouble like mine,” she said to her- 
self. 

Dorris had never prayed for this ; her night and 
morning petitions were those she had been taught 
in childhood, and she was faithful in the perform- 
ance of this duty. 

But now, like a flash of light, the significance of 


116 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

the lines of the hymn came into her mind — a 
prayer to be led by a strong Hand, a longing to lay 
the burden of her anxiety and distress upon one 
who was able and willing to guide and comfort her. 
Oh, the joy if she could be led as a child; to be as 
free from care as she was before the offer of Uncle 
Nicholas; as she was when she and her father sat 
amid the flowers on Mont Eosso, and she read and 
sang to him while he painted the distant moun- 
tains and Lake Maggiore at their feet. 

'^You have considered long over my words,’’ re- 
marked Melchior, his kind heart noting the change 
in her since he last saw her, then so cheerful and 
happy, now so burdened with care. ‘^Do you real- 
ize what a great privilege the compassionate 
Helper has allowed us in giving us the joy of say- 
ing Our Father who art in heaven ? Do you know 
what a father is and what a help a father can be ?” 

“Oh, who can know better than I what a loving 
father is ?” cried Dorris, with tears streaming 
from her eyes. “If my father were but living I 
would indeed know where to go for advice and 
help; no one then would tell me that I am a use- 
less creature and in after years my mother would 
reproach me for bringing her to poverty,” and she 
sobbed in the abandonment of grief. 

Melchior knew that tears would relieve her bur- 
dened heart; he said nothing to check them, but 
kept on with his work, clipping here and there 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 117 

stray shoots and branches, until she regained her 
composure. 

‘^One who knows so well as do you what it is to 
have a loving father should be the happiest of per- 
sons, for you can comprehend what it is to have a 
Father in heaven who will never leave nor forsake 
you if you are his child.^^ 

‘‘Yes, Melchior, but I do not know that he heeds 
me and my troubles. Our Father in heaven be- 
longs to every one upon earth; all are his chil- 
dren.” 

“Suppose you displeased your earthly father; 
suppose you were not always willing for him to 
guide and direct you?” 

“Oh, Melchior, my father loved me so that he 
made of me what he would ; I was under his teach- 
ing and example all the time.” 

“I judged be was just such a father, and know- 
ing him as you do you can the better understand 
what it is to have not only a powerful helper and 
protector but loving friend in our Heavenly 
Father, who wishes us all to be happy.” 

“My father’s greatest wish was to see me happy,” 
said Dorris. 

“But now suppose you sometimes wished to be 
your own mistress, and you wandered away from 
your earthly father’s oversight, following your own 
leading; then, after a time of trusting to 3 /curself 
and forgetting your father’s guiding hand, you 


118 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

came into great need for the best advice, and there 
was no one to help you, and you looked back upon 
the love of that kind father who always could and 
did help you; would you not say to yourself : ^Yes, 
I have a father who loves me and will help me; I 
will go to him/ 

“Yes, I understand you, Melchior, but if I have 
not depended for guidance upon my Heavenly 
Father, but have trusted to myself, dare I ask his 
help now?” 

‘‘You, who had a loving father on earth, should 
be the one to know.” 

“Oh, he would have welcomed me I” cried Dor- 
ris, tearfully. “All the past would have been for- 
gotten in his joy that I had come back to him.” 

“Our Father in heaven is far more tender and 
loving than any earthly father can possibly be. 
Believe in his written word, Dorris ; it was written 
for you. Come out of the cellar dungeon, poor 
child; come into the sunlight of God^s love; be a 
loving, trusting child; let him take you by the 
hand and lead you.” 

“Dorris made no reply for a time; she was re- 
flecting as she followed the old man from bush to 
bush, as the spading demanded. 

“Melchior,” said she, “I wish to ask you a ques- 
tion; will you answer it?” 

“Yes, if I can, I surely will.” 

“If one knows that she has a loving Father in 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 119 

heaven, dare she ask a question of him that she 
would ask her earthly father ?” 

^^Surely she could, Donis; and more than that, 
the answer, while it might not suit your wishes at 
the time, would be what is best for you, for he 
knows the end from the beginning. Your earthly 
father, not knowing what is best, might grant the 
wish, and time would prove that it was far from 
wise. Therefore, in your prayers to your Heavenly 
Father, end no petition without the words, 'Not 
my will but thine be done.^ 

"But if one longs to do what is right, that she 
may not have remorse in after years, but does not 
know what is right, can she pray to God to show 
her the way ? Can she get an answer that will show 
her the sure and certain way?” 

"When we ask God in faith, believing that he 
hears us and will answer in his own good time and 
way, we are sure of an answer, and must wait pa- 
tiently for it.” 

"But, Melchior, if we cannot wait, but must 
have an answer this very day, in a few hours?” 

"I cannot quite understand you ; if I knew what 
is troubling you I might be better able to advise,” 
replied the old man, kindly. 

"Yes, Melchior, how can you advise when you 
have not been told. There is a young man who 
asks me to be his wife. He does not care for me 
nor I for him. I am always glad when I think I 


120 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

will never see him again. All my relatives except 
my mother urge me to marry him, because I would 
then share with him in our great-uncle’s property. 
They say that I have it in my power to provide an 
elegant home for my widowed mother, and if I 
refuse I will suffer bitter remorse when I see her 
need comforts which I could have given her and 
would not. They reproach me bitterly, and say 
that a girl of seventeen should take the advice of 
older and wiser people, and that I am and always 
will be a useless creature.” 

^^Would it not be better to tell the young man 
your feeling tow’ard him?” asked Melchior. 

^^Mamma did tell him, but he paid no attention 
to it.” 

‘‘God sees into your heart, Dorris. He knows all 
and more than you can tell him. He is a God of 
love. Can you promise in his sight to love a man 
you cannot love ? Is not the answer to be found in 
your own heart?” 

“It is, Melchior, it is !” cried Dorris with tears 
of joy. “I am trusting my Father in heaven, and 
he is leading me ; I need have no remorse for lack 
of duty to my mother.” 

“Yes, Dorris, put yourself entirely under the 
guidance of your Heavenly Father, and be joyful 
in the certainty that you have the Almighty One 
for a friend.” 

“I know it ! I know it ! Oh, the peace and con- 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 121 

fidence and strength that has come into my heart ! 
Yon are the friend who has brought me the mes- 
sage from my Heavenly Father. I thank you 
many, many times. Now I must go; come soon 
and see us, Melchior.^^ 

Dorothy met her at the door upon her return, 
and her heart thrilled with joy to see the change 
in her. The eyes of Dorris were bright, her cheeks 
had regained their rosy hue, and her voice its cheer- 
ful ring. 

have been to see Melchior,’^ she said, ^^and he 
has shown me the direct path to my Father in 
heaven.^^ 

Then the two went to their favorite window, 
and, taking seats, Dorris told her mother of the 
whole interview with Melchior, and Dorothy re- 
joiced with her that peace had dawned again in her 
heart. 

Uncle Nicholas that evening received the nega- 
tive answer to his request, and as the days passed 
on Dorothy, to her great joy, saw that the improve- 
ment in the spirits of Dorris was lasting. She 
laughed and chatted and sang as before, took in- 
terest in all that pertained to their daily life, en- 
joyed the church service and Sabbath school, and 
the scenery about her home grew more attractive, 
though it could never displace the love for Mont 
Bosso from her heart. 

Autumn had come, and one afternoon Marie and 


122 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

Melchior met, both on their way to the cottage by 
the river. 

^^Are you intending to call at Dorothy^e ?” asked 
Marie, halting to speak to him. 
am,’^ replied Melchior, 
supposed so, as you are the friend w^ho poses 
as an adviser, the prophet which has foreseen evil, 
the sun which has given light to two moles. 
Through 3 ^u they have turned their backs upon 
an offer which everybody who has a spark of real 
interest in them knows they should have grasped 
with both hands. What Cousin Nicholas sees in 
her is more than any sensible person can tell, for 
he could get a much better wife for the asking. 
She is perfectly useless, and knows no more of the 
duties of the mistress of such a home that Uncle 
Nicholas offers than a canary bird.” 

^^Your husband is an experienced farmer, I be- 
lieve,” remarked Melchior in his quiet way; ^Tiow 
would it answer for him to yoke a canary bird with 
one of his oxen to draw a cart ?” 

‘'One side of your comparison hits the mark; 
Dorris is just as useless as a canary bird. She can 
sing and run after wild roses; that is all that we 
have been encouraged to expect from her.” 

“It is to get this little bird to cheer one with her 
sweet song that brought me here to-day,” explained 
Melchior, as they reached the doorway of the cot- 
tage. 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 123 

Marie had a message for Dorothy from the 
grandmother, and took her aside to give it, leaving 
Dorris to entertain Melchior. 

“Dorris,^^ said the old man, ^^there is a gentle- 
man at the Sanitarium by the name of von Ern- 
stein; do you know of one of that name?” 

‘^1 do indeed,” and Dorris told of her meeting 
with him and his daughter, and of the painting of 
the strand of the North Sea which they bad given 
to her mother. 

^‘Through a letter from Professor Strahl he has 
heard that you are here,” continued Melchior, ^%nd 
being too feeble to come to see you, will consider 
it a great favor if you will come to see him.” 

‘^Gladly,” replied Dorris, cheerfully; “1 will go 
this afternoon if it will suit him to see me.” 

Melchior was sure it would suit, and waited to' 
accompany her, and in a short time they reached 
the Sanitarium, where Herr von Emstein sat upon 
the broad veranda. 

He looked up in surprise when she told him who 
she was — a tall, finely-developed young lady, with 
a wealth of brown hair, instead of the little girl 
whom his daughter had loved.. 

They conversed long and earnestly, and Dorris 
noticed a look of pain pass over the face of the be- 
reaved father at the mention of Amalie. She knew 
the comfort it was to her mother and herself to talk 


124 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

of her father, and she longed for him to have the 
same comfort. 

^^It grieves me to see that yon avoid speaking of 
your loved daughter, now happy in heaven,” she 
said. 

^^My child,” he replied in a trembling voice, ‘^you 
are dear to me for my daughter’s sake, and for that 
reason I say to you what I have never said to any 
one. It is not the separation from my loved daugh- 
ter that has burdened my heart all these years ; it 
is the cruelty with which I treated her during the 
last few weeks of her life.” 

‘^Cruelty! Oh, that is impossible!” cried Dor- 
ris, clasping her hands in astonishment. ^^You 
idolized her; she told me so.” 

“Yes, dear child ; but let me tell you. I would 
never listen to a word of her leaving me. In my 
selfish distress at the thought of losing her, I would 
not give her the comfort of talking to me. I real- 
ized afterward that she longed to tell me her 
thoughts, her wishes, perhaps her fears, which I 
should have listened to and comforted. She 
saw I could not bear it, so kept it all in her own 
heart. The poor, dear young creature had no 
mother to lean upon — no one but a sorrow-stricken 
man, who leaned for comfort upon her feeble life. 
I longed for her to get well, and thought the surest 
way was to keep her cheerful. She had to bear her 
sad thoughts alone, and who can tell how sad they 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 125 

may have been? The night she was called home 
she said, ^^Come, papa, come; do not leave me,” 
and even put out a feeble, detaining hand. But I 
must have help ; I ran to the room of the physician 
in the hotel of Pallanza. He was hard to wake; 
when I got back she was dead. Alone, entirely 
alone, had my sweet, timid child gone out upon 
her long voyage; fought the battle with death 
alone, forsaken.” 

Herr von Ernstein, she was not alone; her 
Saviour was with her; there is no comforter like 
him,” said Dorris, with tears of sympathy in her 
eyes. remember every word she said to me the 
day I went for the picture,” and Dorris repeated 
each word of the conversation between them while 
Herr von Ernstein had gone from the room. 

^^Oh, child, you can never know the comfort 
you have given me. Think well of every word my 
daughter said to you that you may tell me exactly 
as she said it.” 

Dorris had no need to think; she had recalled 
the words too often to forget them, and now re- 
peated them to the father, who listened eagerly. 

^Thds does comfort, does comfort,” he said when 
she finished the conversation between Fraulein von 
Ernstein and herself by the low stone wall. ^^For 
years I have thought the poor child sought com- 
fort of me; instead, she was only wishing to share 
with me the peace that filled her own heart.” 


126 Dorris and Her Mountain Home, 

It appeared that he could not rejoice enough over 
the words that he had never expected to hear. It 
was to him as a message from the happy home 
where his loved one was singing the songs of the 
redeemed. 

‘^I leave here to-morrow for my home in Berlin,” 
he said, as Dorris arose to go ; ‘‘I thank you, Frau- 
lein Dorris — ^thank you from my heart of hearts 
for the blessed comfort you have given. Life will 
be sweeter to me for it.” 

At that moment Lorette came out on the veranda 
with Willie in his carriage, and nodded to Dorris 
as to an old. acquaintance. 

^^Mamma wants to see you,” cried Willie, eagerly. 
^^She was going to send for you to come to see her. 
Come now, come now,” and Willie held fast to her 
hand, not letting it go until Dorris promised to go 
with him to see his mother. 


CHAPTER X. 

MANY PLEASANT SURPRISES., 

Dorris found Frau von Lichtenstem in her pri- 
vate parlor, seated before a writing table, upon 
which were books, manuscripts, and writing mate- 
rials in profusion, and could only raise her eyes 
long enough to wave her visitor to a chair and re- 
sume her work. 

'^Come here to me,’^ said Willie, beckoning 
eagerly, a glad light in his eyes; ‘Vhy have you 
staid away so long ?” 

^^Willie,^^ exclaimed his mother, harshly, ^^you 
should not be so free with a stranger.^’ 

^^She is not a stranger; she knows me, and likes 
me, and I like her.” 

^TTave you ever been employed as a governess?” 
inquired the lady, turning to her. 

“Xo, I have never been employed in any ca- 
pacity ; I live at home with my mother.” 

have just returned from Germany, and in a 
few days business will call me there again. My 
time is so filled with scientific subjects that I can- 
not pay attention to the education of a sickly child. 
The physicians say that Willie must go to a warmer 
climate, and I must find some one to not only give 
him a little instruction, but have sole charge of 
him, for which she would be paid liberally ; but the 


128 Dorris and Her Mountain Home, 

condition is that she must go with him to Italy, to 
remain, perhaps, for years.’^ 

know the very place,^^ said Dorris, a sudden 
hope springing up in her heart; ^‘it is on Mont 
Rosso, by Lake Maggiore, my dear, dear home. I 
was born in Italy, and always lived there until the 
past year.” 

^^You have a cheerful temperament; the very 
thing the physician says the boy needs in a care- 
taker,” said the lady, noticing the eager flush that 
rose to the cheeks of Dorris. “Why not accept the 
position and let us make the agreement now; in 
which case I will give you the flrst quarter’s salary 
in advance ?” 

“I must consult with my mother. I never do 
an 3 rthing without her consent.” 

“Then let me know at your earliest conveni- 
ence,” said the lady, returning to her writing, as 
Dorris arose to go. 

“I am almost sure I can go, and will come and 
tell you in a few hours at latest.” 

“Do come,” said Willie from his carriage. 

She nodded a cheerful response and hurried 
away, and sped lightly over the mountain path to 
her home.. She did not notice the gray clouds that 
hovered over the mountains nor feel the cold wind. 
Before her mind’s eyes she saw the sunny slope of 
Mont Rosso, saw the roses upon the terrace of her 
home, heard the song of birds and the gurgling of 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 129 

the mountain stream. ^^But mamma! What will 
she say to this sudden change?’’ she thought, and 
with this in mind she reached her own door. 

Dorothy sat by the window sewing, and looked 
up in astonishment at hearing the sprightly step 
and seeing the sparkling eyes of Dorris. ‘^What is 
it, child? What is it?” she asked, eagerly. 

“Oh, mamma, w^e can go home, back to our loved 
Cavandone; we can go before the cold winter sets 
in; I have found employment.” 

“Dorris, tell me all !” said the mother, pale with 
the sudden news; and in as few words as possible 
the subject was made plain to her, and then the 
daughter waited for response. 

“Oh, Dorris,” said Dorothy in a voice trembling 
with joy, “I have never complained nor let you 
know that I grieved for my Italian home, but all is 
so changed here since I left it that I have never 
felt contented, and since that affair with Uncle 
Nicholas, and because of it the coldness of my rela- 
tives, I have wished a hundred times that we had 
never left our cottage home, and to go back would 
be the greatest pleasure in life to me.” 

“We can go, mamma; dear, patient little 
mamma,” bending down to kiss her forehead; “we 
can go ; I only w^aited, fearing that you would not 
be willing to go.” 

“But did Frau Lichtenstern speak particularly 
of Cavandone?” 


130 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

^‘She said anywhere so it was in Italy, where the 
climate was milder than here, and when I spoke of 
my old home she seemed more pleased than ever.” 

^^But, dear Dorris, we only rented that house; 
of course, it is occupied now.” 

will brave all the lions that cross my path, 
mamma, now that I know that you are willing to 
go. We can rent a house in Cavandone until that 
one is vacant. Leave all that to me, mamma.” 

‘‘I will, gladly,” was the response; “I dread re- 
sponsibility, and know that in your hands all will 
be right.” 

“Then I will go back and tell Frau Lichtenstem, 
and that matter will be off my mind.” 

‘TTou will be so tired, dear; you had better wait 
until evening.” 

“No, business is business; besides, I promised,” 
and Dorris left and went quickly along the moun- 
tain path, her heart filled with happiness over the 
charming prospect before her. 

When she reached the Sanitarium Frau Lichten- 
stern was at dinner, but she left the table and went 
to the reception room to see Dorris, eager to hear 
the report, and was delighted to find that all was 
satisfactory. It added to her satisfaction to hear 
that the mother was to go with Dorris and aid in 
the care of Willie, for all responsibility would be 
removed from her by it; no one could reflect upon 
her neglect of duty, she reasoned, now that a ma- 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 131 

tron older and more experienced than herself was 
provided. She made the quarterly compensation 
so liberal that ample support for the three was 
secure, and means left for any luxuries that Willie’s 
condition might require. 

“Now,” said she, as she put the money into the 
hand of Dorris, “this part being settled, we must 
decide upon the time. What do you say to going in 
four days?” 

The heart of Dorris throbbed with surprise at 
the question. Could they get ready in such a short 
time? What^would her mother say to this sudden 
change? But Dorris had put her hand to the 
plough; she would not turn back. 

“I must see Willie off upon his journey before I 
leave for Germany,” added Frau Lichtenstern, no- 
ticing her hesitation; “it will be growing colder all 
the time now, and, besides, I must return to Ger- 
many as early as possible.” 

“We will be ready at that time,” said Dorris, 
rapidly planning ways and means to fulfil her 
promise. 

“I am glad; I shall live in constant dread of 
something happening to delay such a charming ar- 
rangement; Willie might fall ill and not be able to 
go for a time; then winter will set in and the 
mountain passes be choked with snow, and we shut 
up in this lonely valley for months.” 

“I hope nothing will happen,” said Dorris, 


132 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

brightly, as she arose to go, after giving a cheering 
glance to Willie, who was being wheeled up and 
down the corridor by one of the servants. 

One of the plans of Dorris was to see Melchior 
and arrange with him to come the next day and 
help pack the household goods and see to having 
them shipped for Cavandone. Fortune favored 
her; he was working in the grounds as she passed 
out, and readily promised to come. He was much 
surprised at the sudden call to return to the Italian 
home, and sorry that he should see them no more ; 
but it was God^s will that they should go ; that was 
sufficient for Melchior. 

Dorothy was more than surprised; she was as- 
tounded to hear that they were expected to start 
upon their journey on the morning of the fourth 
day. 

^Ht is impossible, Dorris ; simply impossible 
she ejaciilated. ^Must think of it! Our goods to 
be packed and shipped; and this house, what are 
we to do with it? How can you for a moment 
think of going in such a short time 

“It can and will be done, little mother; I have 
thought it all out. Three days will be as good as 
three weeks, and better, if we make good use of 
them., Melchior is to come to-morrow and pack 
and ship the furniture, and we will put the house 
in his hands to rent or sell; he can do far better 
with it than we can or any one else that I know.” 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 133 

^^But grandmother and the uncles and aunts?’’ 
exclaimed Dorothy, turning pale at the thought of 
their angry astonishment. 

^^And Cousin Nicholas; don’t forget him,” 
laughed Dorris, gleefully. can imagine his 
open-mouthed look of surprise.” 

Dorothy joined in her mirth; it cheered her and 
did her good to see Dorris in such spirits. 

^^Let us have a good cup of tea, liehe mutterchen, 
and we can utilize the time by talking at the table. 
While you are preparing it I will write to Maja 
and tell her we are coming. Oh, mamma, it does 
really seem too good to be true, to think we will 
see them all again, and the dear pastor and his 
wife and other dear friends.” 

By the time the letter was ready to mail, Dorris, 
whose watching eyes were rewarded by seeing a 
boy trudging along toward Schuls, gave it into his 
care to post; then they sat down to the neat little 
meal and ate and chatted while Dorris rested. 

They sat long at table, for Dorris knew that her 
mother’s nerves needed quiet after the exciting 
news of the morning, and nothing would be gained 
by attempting anything that day toward forward- 
ing the moving. 

‘^We will be as idle as we please for the balance 
of the day, mamma,” she remarked, cheerily. 

^^But first should we not go over and tell grand- 
mother and the relations?” asked Dorothy, anx- 


134 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

iously. really do not know how to commence it 
when I see them/' 

‘Then do not try, mamma; I will make the con- 
fession for you, and all in good time. Just think 
of the happy life we are to have in our dear old 
home. With the means that Frau Lichtenstern 
gives us we can not only afford every comfort for 
Willie and ourselves, but can have sails upon the 
lake and take him to Pallanza and other places,” 
and in listening to these prospective pleasures 
Dorothy forgot the relations and .their certain dis- 
pleasure. 

“Mamma,” said Dorris, after a pause, “is it not 
strange that Frau Lichtenstern gave me no direc- 
tions as to the care of Willie? I put the question 
to her, and. she said that she knew nothing about it ; 
that I could use my judgment; that she would be 
satisfied with my management. She added that 
she was more interested in political agitations of 
Europe than in the care of children.. Can you un- 
derstand, mamma, how a mother can neglect a sick 
child for any other interest ?” 

“I do not know that we could really call it neg- 
lect, when she is willing to pay so lavishly to have 
him cared for by persons whom she thinks more 
competent than herself. But I cannot understand 
her willingness to be away from him. My husband 
and my child were my all; I could do without any 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 136 

other society. I cannot enter into the feelings of 
one who thinks differently.^^ 

“I do rejoice, mamma, that yon love children 
and understand so well how to manage them and 
to win their love. You will pity and love Willie 
as I do when you see him. He is gentle as an in- 
fant when treated kindly; it was the cruel words 
of Lorette which roused such a tempest of anger in 
him.” 

^‘Kindness is the most potent factor in the train- 
ing of children, and love is the root of kindness,” 
said Frau Maurizius. 

‘^Just think what a well-bred child you made 
out of the little savage Marietta,” laughed Dorris. 

think it must be the greatest joy that a mother 
can have to know that she has done the best that 
was possible for her children by example and pre- 
cept. How can she do this unless she be good and 
just and right in every way? How can children 
grow up good and useful men and women when 
left to the care of ignorant servants ?” 

^^It had been the aim of Dorris to keep her 
mother^s mind from the ordeal of telling the rela- 
tives of their intended change of abode, and she 
succeeded. The subject was, in the opinion of 
Dorothy, when given time to recur to it, like a 
mountain almost impossible to scale, but which 
must be scaled. 

At the suggestion of Dorris, they retired early 


136 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

that evening, and when sure her mother was asleep 
she descended to the rooms below and worked dili- 
gently for several hours. She had helped to ar- 
range the household effects for safe transportation 
from Cavandone to Schuls; now this knowledge 
was available in packing to send them from Schuls 
to Cavandone. She knew what barrels and boxes 
held the pictures, books, glass, and china to the best 
advantage, and knowing this, the work was quietly 
and speedily done. 

Everything on that floor which would not be 
really needed for the little time they remained was 
ready for removal; then Dorris went to her well- 
earned rest, weary but happy. 

The surprise of Dorothy was complete when she 
arose the next morning. All thoughts of not being 
ready at the appointed time were banished when 
she saw what had been accomplished in a few 
hours., 

“We will go and see grandmother now, and have 
it over with,” said Dorris when they finished break- 
fast ; “by the time we have paid our calls Melchior 
will be here.” 

They put all in order and set out, Dorris talking 
all the way that her mother’s mind might be kept 
as much as possible from the dreaded interview. 

They reached the grandmother’s door unseen by 
Marie, gave a tap upon it, and entered. 

“We have come to give you a surprise, grand^ 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 137 

mother/'^ said Dorris, cheerily, as they took the 
seats she offered. have unexpectedly received 
employment, and am going to try to be of some 
use in the world. Mamma is, of course, going with 
me; we could not live away from each other, and 
we are busy getting ready for the journey, so you 
will excuse a short call.” 

Grandmother Durant heard her in silence to the 
end, and then said slowly: “Where no advice is 
asked none need be given. It would have been 
more respectful to have informed your relations of 
your intentions that something might be done with 
the house, which neither of you will appreciate 
until you are beggars. Go, Dorris, down to J acob\ 
house and tell your Aunt Marie to come and tell 
your Aunt Katharine that I wish to see her.” 

“I do not think we need their help,” began Dor- 
ris, but catching an anxious glance from her mo- 
ther, she went out and soon returned with her 
aimts. 

“We were sent for, grandmother,” remarked 
Katharine, stiffly; “for what purpose we are wait- 
ing to hear.” 

“Tell her, Dorris,” said the grandmother; “it 
appears to be entirely your affair; your mother 
does not speak, and I have no right to have a say 
in it.” 

Dorris made short work of the explanation, and 
there was silence for a full minute. 


138 Dorris and Her Mountain Home, 

\ 

‘^1 have said all along that once a foreigner al- 
ways a foreigner,” said Marie. ^^Let her go baek 
to her onions and macaroni, and Dorothy with her ; 
she is nothing but a reed in her daughter’s hands.” 

will only say,” remarked Katharine, ^^that 
the relatives upon whom you turn your backs be- 
cause they have no high heads among them will not 
turn their faces toward you when your pride brings 
jw down to the poverty you richly deserve.” 

^^We will go now, mamma,” said Dorris, rising 
and taking the hand of her mother, who sat pale 
and trembling. ^^Good-bye, dear grandmother,” 
kissing her upon her forehead ; ‘^good-bye, aunts !” 
and she led the way to the door, Dorothy following 
in her footsteps with the exactness that she had 
done in her farewells. 

The moment they were outside Dorothy burst 
into tears, and Dorris did not attempt to check 
them; she knew that it would relieve her far more 
than words of hers could do. 

“Let us cross the bridge, mamma,” said she, 
cheerily, when they reached it; “I wish to see the 
place where the wild roses grow; we will take a 
root from them to our new home.” 

Dorothy was cheered by the care-free tone ; more- 
over, the dreaded interview was past; there was 
nothing now to mar their pleasure in thinking of 
the change they were about to make. 

“I almost imagine that 1 can see Dr. Strahl 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 139 

walking with his brisk step along this path,” said 
Dorris as they ascended the sloj)e of Mont Pisoe. 
“I wonder if we will ever see him again ?” 

‘^No, I think not; there is a possibility of his 
coming to Schuls and the Sanitarium next sum- 
mer, but we will not be here to see him.” 

With a sharp stick and the exertion of some of 
her surplus strength, Dorris succeeded in securing 
a strong, healthy root of the wild rose, and wrapped 
it in some moist earth and put both in her hand- 
kerchief, then put them in her mother^s hand. 

‘^Take them home for me, mamma, please; I 
have another call to make; I am going to Ardez.” 

^^Oh, Dorris !” exclaimed Dorothy, in utter sur- 
prise, stopping to gaze into her daughter’s face. 
^‘You surely do not mean it?” 

^^Yes, mamma; and would like you to go with 
me, if you will. Melchior will wait patiently if he 
gets to the cottage before we return.” 

^^It is not that, but I never could face Uncle 
Mcholas after what has passed. If our relations 
here are so angry and upbraided us so severely, 
what will he say?” 

^Ut does not matter to me what he says ; that is 
his side of the question. Mine is that he has been 
kinder to me than any one here except Melchior, 
and I would be ungrateful not to go to see him 
before I leave.” 


140 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

‘^Yes, Dorris, but Cousin Nicholas; what can 
you say to him 

‘^Nothing!” laughed Dorris; has gone to the 
wedding of a comrade in Berne, and is not ex- 
pected back for two days. I heard Aunt Katha- 
rine tell grandmother this just as we came out the 
door.^^ 

“Then go, dear, and do not hurry; Melchior and 
1 can do all there is to do ; the advantage in having 
a small house is that we have not much to move.’' 

Dorris kissed her hand to her mother and sped 
along the mountain path, while Dorothy took the 
way home by the bridge. The surprise of Uncle 
Nicholas was only surpassed by his delight over the 
unexpected call, and he invited Dorris to a seat 
near him. 

“Have you changed your mind about Nicholas 
and come to tell us he asked, eagerly ; “if so we 
will have the grandest wedding festivities that have 
ever been known in the valley.” 

“No, uncle; I came to tell you that I have found 
employment; I am to have the care of a crippled 
boy, whose physicians say must be taken to a warm 
climate ; so mamma and I will take him to our old 
home in Cavandone. I felt that I must come to 
say good-bye to you, for you have been so kind to 
me, and I say in all sincerity that I am sorry to 
leave you.” 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 141 

The old man said nothing for what seemed to 
Dorris a long time. 

^^When do you go he asked. 

^‘Day after to-morrow in the morning. Melchior 
is to come to-day to help us, and will send our fur- 
niture on its way to Italy this evening.” 

‘^You cannot have better help; Melchior is al- 
ways a friend in need.” 

‘^No one knows that better than myself, uncle,” 
said Dorris. Then, as her sensitive conscience re- 
minded her that the advice of the old man had 
helped blight the hopes of her Uncle Nicholas, 
tears filled her eyes, and she looked at him with a 
sad, loving glance. 

‘‘We have put our cottage in his hands, uncle,” 
she continued. “We knew that he can do better 
for us than we could do for ourselves in renting or 
selling it.” 

“'S'es,” commented the old man, refiectively. 

“Good-bye, uncle,” said Dorris, rising to go; 
“and with my good-bye I wish to ask you to come 
to see us in our Italian home. I would love to see 
you sitting upon our dearly loved terrace and eat- 
ing the great bunches of purple grapes that you 
need not rise from your chair to gather.” 

“I would love to come, dear; but it would have 
been the joy of my old heart to have had you here. 
You would have brought brightness and cheer into 
this quiet home. But it was not to be. God bless 
thee, dear, and give thee his peace !” 


143 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

‘‘I am so glad you do not feel offended with me, 
and that I can look back upon my visit here as one 
of the pleasantest of my life. Eemember me to 
Cousin Nicholas, and give him this as a little me- 
mento of me,” and she laid a netted purse of green 
and crimson silk upon the table, shook hands again 
with the old man, and left the room. 

^^Dorris !” he called ; ^^Dorris, come back ; I have 
something to say !” 

Dorris returned immediately and stood beside 
him. 

“Tell Dorothy I want her to come to-day to bid 
me good-bye; tell her I will take no denial.” 

“She will come, uncle ; I am sure she will,” and 
Dorris tripped away. 

This request was a new trial to Dorothy. Her 
heart would have failed her entirely had she not 
been encouraged by Dorris. 

“He was so kind and good, mamma, and did not 
feel the least aggrieved that we were going away. 
You would regret it after we left here; besides, I 
promised.” 

“I will go, dear, and wish now that I had gone 
with you.” 

“But Melchior would have been waiting so long ; 
now you need not hurry; so much is already done 
that Melchior and I will have them ready to send- 
off earlier than we expected.” 

“I am sorry I had to send for you to come to bidi 
your old uncle good-bye, Dorothy,” said the old 


Dorris and Her. Mountain Home. 143 

man as she entered the stately home in Ardez, ^^bnt 
I know yonr reason for not being willing to come. 
You need have no fears; I have no intention of 
speaking upon the subject of my disappointment, 
so take a seat and listen to what I have to say.’^ 
Dorothy took the seat near him, which had been 
occupied by Dorris, and waited developments., 
“Your daughter, when here, gave me an invita- 
tion to visit her at your home in Cavandone. I do 
not care to promise to visit any one who lives in a 
rented house, for the reason that by the time I 
reached there they may have gone elsewhere and 
strangers be in the house. When I come to see you 
I want to know where to find you. You know who 
my heir will be ; he has enough without the addi- 
tion of what he will inherit from me, but I intend 
leaving him, as my namesake, the bulk of what I 
possess. Were he not such a clod that daughter of 
yours would have been my heir; she should have 
inherited all had she become the wife of Nicholas. 
As it is, I am determined that she shall have some- 
thing. She loves that home in Italy, and she shall 
have it if it can be bought. I sent for you to tell 
you this and to ask the name and address of the 
owner of it, and also that of any friend of yours in 
Cavandone to whom I can write and ask him to 
bargain for the purchase of it. I will write to him 
this evening and tell him that the purchase money 
is ready any day.^^ 


144 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

“Uncle Nicholas, I have no words to express my 
surprise and joy. Oh, the delight it will be to Dor- 
ris to know that the home she loves is hers, with 
no fear of having to leave it.” And happy tears 
filled the eyes of Dorothy. 

“But as yet we are not sure it can be hers. Many 
changes may have taken place in the year you have 
been here ; so I advise that you tell Dorris nothing 
of it until you are sure the house is hers.” 

Dorothy agreed with him in this opinion; she 
saw the wisdom of it. 

“Now give me the address of the owner of the 
cottage,” said Uncle Nicholas, taking a memoran- 
dum book from his pocket. 

This was given and jotted down., 

“Now the name of some friend in Cavandone 
who would go over the house and judge its value, 
and then see the owner in regard to the price.” 

“I think our former pastor would be the one. 
We have many friends in Cavandone and neigh- 
boring villages who would gladly help us in any 
way they could; and none would be more willing 
than our aged pastor.” And she gave the address, 
which was noted, and shortly after arose to go., 

“One thing more, Dorothy,” said Uncle Nicho- 
las ; “when Melchior has finished what be has to do 
for you, tell him to come over to Ardez; I have a 
little business with him, and he shall be paid for 
his walk and loss of time.” 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 145 

will, uncle; and good-bye, and take my most 
grateful thanks for all your goodness to us.” 

^^If it will be a pleasure to you to know it, I 
must say that you have trained your daughter well, 
Dorothy; she is a noble girl.” 

^Thank you, uncle! thank you!” said the 
mother, her refined face fiushing at this sincere 
praise, and with this parting word she went home. 

^^He was very kind, Dorris, and I am glad I 
went,” she said upon reaching the cottage; “it did 
me good after meeting with the coldness of my 
grandmother and aunts. They would have thought 
you perfect if they could have had their way in re- 
gard to Cousin Nicholas; uncle was good and kind 
notwithstanding you disappointed him.” 

By the middle of the afternoon the cottage was 
dismantled, with the exception of the few articles 
necessary for their use during the short time they 
would remain, after which they were to be the pro- 
perty of Melchior as a parting gift from them. 

After seeing the articles consigned to the care of 
the transporters, Melchior walked over to Ardez, 
in compliance with the request of Uncle Nicholas, 
whose kind heart had become interested in another 
plan for the assistance of Dorothy and Dorris, and 
who consulted with Melchior as one in whom he 
could place every confidence. 


CHAPTER XI. 


BACK IN THE LOVED HOME. 

It was the last evening of their stay in the cot- 
tage by the river, and' Dorothy and her daughter 
sat by the window which looked toward Mont 
Pisoc. They were weary, but not depressed; in- 
stead, were happy in the prospect opened so unex- 
pectedly before them, their only trial being that 
not one of their relatives had been near them since 
being told of their departure from Schuls. 

It was a pleasant diversion from the thought of 
this to see Melchior coming down the mountain 
path, cross the bridge, and come up the path to 
their cottage, and Dorris ran to the door to admit 
him. 

They were glad to see him ; they felt that next to 
Uncle Nicholas he was their best friend in Switzer- 
land, and it was with real regret that they realized 
that after the morrow they might never see him 
again. 

^'Have you pen and ink by you, Fraulein Dor- 
ris?’’ he said, turning to her. ^There is a paper 
here which Herr Nicholas Durant wishes the 
mother to sign.” 

'T sign it?” cried Dorothy in surprise and some 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 147 

% 

anxiety. ^^What can it be that I am to sign ? Bead 
it, Dorris.’’ 

^^Yes, you will read the paper to her, Dorris; 
then I am sure she will be willing to put her name 
to it,” smiled Melchior, taking a legal-looking 
d'ocument from his pocket and putting it into her 
hand. 

^^Oh, mamma !” exclaimed Dorris, flushing with 
delight as she glanced over the paper; ‘‘^Uncle 
Nicholas has bought this house; all you have to do 
is to sign this paper, which releases your claim 
upon it.” 

^^Dear, kind old uncle,” commented Frau Mau- 
rizius, gratefully; ‘‘and to give us such a good 
price for it! Indeed I will gladly put my name 
to it.” 

“And it is just a piece of our good fortune that 
I happened to put pen and ink in my little hand- 
satchel instead of a trunk,” said Dorris, as she 
brought them to her mother, who signed the paper, 
Dorris and Melchior putting their names to the 
document as witnesses. 

“Here is a part of the purchase money,” said 
Melchior, taking it from his pocket, “and Herr 
Nicholas says he will send the balance to you after 
you have arrived at Cavandone.” 

“That will be far better,” said Dorris ; “we would 
be anxious if we had so much with us. Uncle 
Nicholas knows exactly what is best.” 


148 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

‘^God is so good to us,” said Dorothy, reverently., 
^^He has smoothed the path step by step for our 
feet. Tell Uncle Nicholas that we are deeply 
grateful to him, and can leave this house knowing 
that it will be no care to you except to take out 
your few pieces of furniture and give the key to 
Uncle Nicholas.” 

^'But I will not have to move the furniture nor 
carry the key to Ardez,” said Melchior, cheerfully ; 
^^instead, will take possession. Herr Nicholas has 
let me have the cottage at very low rent, and my 
niece is to come to keep house for me. I will be 
nearer my work, and in every way will be better 
suited than I am now.” 

This was a charming surprise to the ladies, and 
they congratulated the old man, who would be so 
comfortably fixed. 

^Tt is a joy to us to know you will be here, Mel- 
chior,” said Dorothy; ^To think of you being in 
the home that my father and mother loved, the 
home of my childhood, will be one of the pleasant- 
est remembrances of Switzerland.” 

^Tt is certainly one of the greatest favors to 
me,” replied the old man, and saying that he would 
come in the morning to see them off, he bade them 
good-night, and soon after mother and daughter 
retired to rest. 

Happy as Dorothy had been a year before to 
come to her once loved home in Schuls, she was far 


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Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 149 

happier to leave it and return to the happy scenes 
of her later life, and the journey to them was one 
of unalloyed pleasure. 

It was near sunset of a cloudless day when she 
and Dorris stood on the fore part of the boat speed- 
ing its way over Lake Maggiore toward Zuna. 

•‘Look, mamma cried Dorris; “see the lovely 
green slopes of Mont Eosso, like a velvet mantle, 
so smooth and soft. See the branches of the trees 
reflected in the clear water which is now sparkling 
with golden light ; look at the old tower, and 
higher up the chapel, and the dear hamlets and 
villages dotted over it.^^ 

“And Mont Ferro, and the stately Motterone,” 
added Dorothy. 

“We have reached home,^^ said Dorris, as the 
boat touched the landing, “but Maja and the chil- 
dren are not here to meet us ; I told her in my let- 
ter at what time to-day we would reach here.” 

“She may not have received it ; but it is no mat- 
ter; we can leave our packages here and Giacomo 
will come for them when he comes from his work.” 

“No, we need not wait a moment; we will go 
directly up to the house.” 

They left the boat, Dorris drawing the carriage 
in which lay Willie, who had been enjoying a 
sound sleep on the boat, and was now bright and 
interested in all he saw. They were joyously glad 
that he had stood the journey so well and was 


150 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

happy with them, seeming to improve every hour 
in spirits. 

When they reached the chapel they halted to 
rest, and Dorris, with tears of joy and grief, sat 
down upon the bank where she had so often sat and 
read and sung to her father. 

^^Mamma,” said she, ^Hhe nearer I get to our dear 
home the more anxious I am, fearing that it is 
occupied. It has been so long since we heard from 
Giacomo, and I dread now that the reason he did 
not write was because he knew that we would be 
grieved to know that some one is living in our dear 
home. I do not know how I could bear it to pass 
it by to seek a place elsewhere.” 

have thought of this every step I have taken, 
Dorris, but Providence has cared for us in every 
event of our lives ; if he wills it that w^e are not to 
have the old home, we should and will trust to his 
judgment that it is best for us.” 

Further conversation was prevented by hearing 
the sound of young voices, and in a moment they 
were surrounded by Maja and the children, who 
were clamoring with delight at seeing them. 

'^We were on our way to meet you,” said Maja; 
^^the boat got in earlier than we expected.” 

^^Who would have thought that Benedetto and 
Marietta could have grown so much in one year?” 
said Dorris. ^^But Giacomo — where is he?” And 
she looked about her. 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home, 151 

“Here, Fraulein,’^ said the boy, appearing from 
another and shorter path; and he held out his 
hand shyly. 

“No, not FrMein, but Dorris; I am the same 
Dorris to you all as when I left you.’^ 

Marietta, having presented her with a wreath of 
wild flowers, had now turned her attention to Wil- 
lie, who was viewing the proceedings with a mix- 
ture of pleasure and amazement. She broke off a 
long stick, which she placed in his hand as coach- 
man’s whip, and a tin whistle in his other hand, 
and telling him to blow it, she started with his 
carriage up the slope, the others following, Gia- 
como carrying the small parcels which they had left 
upon the boat, he taking the landing way in his 
walk from Pallanza. 

“But our house, Maja — is it occupied?” asked* 
Dorothy as they walked along. 

“Tell them> Giacomo,” said Maja, nodding to 
her grandson, but he reddened, and for a moment 
nothing was said. 

“Then it is rented,” said Dorris; “at all events, 
it is lost to us.” 

“There is no one in it; it is waiting for you,” 
he said, his black eyes bright with pleasure. 

“Oh, how delightful !” cried Dorris in great re- 
lief. “Why did you keep the good news a moment 
from us, Giacomo ? You surely know what a joy it 


152 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

would be to us. Nothing you could tell us would 
give us more pleasure.’^ 

Dorothy, who was walking with Maja, was also 
happy over this report, yet felt that all was not 
quite clear. Giacomo was keeping something from 
them. 

'^He hesitates,” said she; ^^perhaps the house is 
promised to some one.” 

^^No; and you have come at a good time. As to 
Giacomo, I will tell you all about it. The day you 
left here the owner came; he is also the owner of 
the large gardens at Pallanza, as you know. A 
man came with him who wished to rent the house, 
with the view to buying it if it suited him. I had 
the key — ^you remember that you left it with me — 
and they asked me for it, as they wished to look 
over the terrace and garden which the owner had 
given into my care. When Giacomo heard that 
there was a prospect of the man taking it, he was 
almost beside himself with grief ; he said that you 
would come back and could not have your old 
home. The owner laughed and said the house 
would have a long wait for a tenant if it waited 
for you ; but Giacomo was so sure of it that he re- 
solved to keep the cottage for you if in his power 
to do so. He walked to Pallanza and told the 
owner that he would work in his gardens from 
early morning until late at night, and allow his 
wages to lay in his employer’s hands until enough 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 163 

had accumulated to pay the rent of the cottage for 
a year. 

"The owner looked at him in surprise, but prom 
ised that the house should stand unoccupied, be- 
cause he saw that Giacomo was in earnest ; besides, 
he needed a faithful, industrious boy in his gar- 
dens, and knew that Giacomo would be that boy. 
I think, too, that he decided in his own mind that 
the man who looked at it did not intend to buy it.^^ 

"And Giacomo went?^^ said Dorris, eagerly, as 
all halted in the interest of the story. 

"Yes ; the owner came to me to ask if I were will- 
ing to have him go ; and I said I would gladly, for 
I knew that he would learn a good business with a 
good, kind employer ; and if you did come back the 
house would be ready for you. When that matter 
had been settled and Giacomo had gone to work, 
Beppo came home from Genoa for the purpose of 
taking him back with him, but Giacomo had bar- 
gained to stay at the gardens, and Beppo took 
Benedetto in his stead.^^ 

"But he is here now,^^ said Dorothy, turning to 
the tall boy, who had been helping Marietta with 
Willie’s carriage. 

"Yes, he is home on a visit, and we were all glad 
it happened to be now, that he might see you.” 

"They are all fine, healthy children; you may 
well be proud of them, Maja.” 

"I am not the only one who thinks well of them. 


154 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

The employers of both of them say that they are 
faithful workers and reliable in every way» Gia- 
como gets good wages for a boy.^^ 

“But all the work he has done has brought him 
nothing for himself/^ commented Dorris, regret- 
fully; “all went for the rent/^ 

“Oh, no,” replied Maja, eagerly; “that has been 
paid some time ago, and he has had some money to 
use for other things. He was commencing on an- 
other year of rent, although the owner would not 
promise to keep it the year if he had a good chance 
to sell it, as it is not good for a house to be vacant 
so long.” 

“You are sure that it is not sold?” said Dorothy, 
anxiously. 

“No; the owner would have told Giacomo if it 
were sold. He was there this morning with our 
old pastor, and went over the house and terrace 
and garden; but I am sure the pastor does not need 
a house when he has one.” 

To Maja^s surprise Dorothy did not seem the 
least depressed by this information; instead, she 
smiled brightly, and seemed in such excellent 
spirits that even Dorris could not understand the 
sudden change which all noticed. 

They had by this time reached the cottage; the 
door was opened by Maja, and Dorothy and Dorris 
stood in delighted astonishment at what met their 
view« All their belongings were back in their old 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 155 

places, looking so home-like and familiar that 
mother and daughter felt that the year since they 
left it was but a dream. 

^^This is why we were too late to meet you at the 
boat/^ said Maja, her kind face beaming with pleas- 
ure at seeing their surprise. ‘^‘Your goods came 
just in time for us to have all in readiness for you, 
and no time over.” 

^‘How can we ever repay you and the children, 
Maja, for your goodness to us?” asked Dorothy, 
with tears in her eyes. 

^^You have done it long ago. What would these 
children have been had you not taken them in 
hand ; where would I have been ?” she added, smil- 
ingly. 

^^Let us go out on the terrace,” said Dorris, 
eagerly; and Giacomo, drawing the carriage of 
Willie, followed her swift steps through the cor- 
ridor and out the door at the back of the cottage, 
where another happy surprise awaited her, Gia- 
como having used the knowledge gained at the 
gardens in making the terrace more beautiful than 
ever. Koses, the richest, scented the evening air, 
and great clusters of purple grapes added to the 
fragrance. 

^^Oh !” said W^illie, clasping has pale hands, ^^am 
I to be in this beautiful place? Is this my home. 
Aunt Dorris ?” 

hope so, Willie; I can only pray that God 


156 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

will so bless us.” Then, remembering the words of 
Melchior, she added, it be his will.” 

'TDorris,” said her mother, must tell you 
something which I hope may come to pass. The 
day I went to bid Uncle Nicholas good-bye he told 
me that he wished to buy this place for you, and 
we have to thank Giacomo for keeping it vacant 
for us, and thus giving uncle a chance.” 

Dorris turned pale and red by turns in her de- 
light at hearing this. 

^‘Oh, mother, how could you keep such news from 
me?” she said. 

^^Because your Uncle Nicholas thought it wiser 
not to mention it to you until we found that it was 
unoccupied and still belonged to the employer of 
Giacomo and yet for sale, knowing it would add to 
the bitterness of your disappointment to know what 
might have been.” 

^^But can he buy it, mamma? Is it still for 
sale?” 

'^Yes, Dorris; Maja tells me that the pastor, to 
whom your uncle told me he intended writing, was 
here to-day with the owner, and I have not the 
least doubt but the place is yours, for your uncle 
said he would give whatever price the pastor and 
owner agreed upon.” 

Maja and the children shared in the joy of 
mother and daughter, and had just congratulated 
them upon the happy prospect when they heard 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 157 

tlie sound of voices, and the pastor and the pro- 
prietor of the gardens at Pallanza came through 
the corridor and out upon the terrace. 

There were cordial greetings and welcomes 
home, and then the pastor put an official-looking 
paper in the hand of Dorris. 

‘^Allow me to congratulate you, my child, upon 
becoming the owner of the sweet home ; this is the 
deed to the cottage ; it is now yours. Let us have 
a word of prayer; then I must go.” 

They all knelt and the pastor asked that God’s 
blessing might rest upon the home; that they 
might have health and prosperity under its roof, 
never forgetting to give thanks to the loving 
Father above, who had so blessed them. Then he 
went, accompanied by his companion, and Dorris 
again thanked Giacomo for has thoughtful kind- 
ness in keeping the house for them. 

^‘Now we must have a cup of tea,” said Dorothy; 
^^and Maja and the children must stay and par- 
take of it with us.” 

^'Yes, mamma ; and let it be out here on the ter- 
race, which Giacomo has kept in such beautiful 
condition for us.” 

This was agreed to, and while Dorothy and Maja 
prepared the food, which Dorothy had brought 
with her from Schuls, Dorris and Marietta put the 
dishes upon the table, which Giacomo and Bene- 


158 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

detto carried from the corridor, Willie looking 
upon all these doings in supreme content. 

It was a serenely happy company that sur- 
rounded the board. The simple meal of rolls, but- 
ter, cheese, and wild honey was all that any of 
them could wish, yet they did not neglect the lus- 
cious grapes that hung within reach of their 
hands. 

After Maja had helped Dorothy, put all in order, 
she and the children left, wishing them every 
blessing upon their new home. Then Dorothy took 
Willie to his cot, where he was soon in a sweet, 
deep sleep, Dorris remaining alone upon the ter- 
race. Twilight was brooding over the place; over 
the peak of Motterone the evening star was shin- 
ing, and one by one others were appearing in the 
blue vault above. Dorris mused upon the changes 
which had come into her life since she last sat 
there. She had found a friend in Herr von Ern- 
stein, who had convinced her that she was of use 
in the world, thereby encouraging her to search for 
work to do, and faithfully perform that which 
came in her path. Through her aged Great-Uncle 
Nicholas she had become mistress of the loved 
home, with all its memories of her father — a pre- 
cious gift. 

Through her faithful old friend, Melchior, she 
had found a personal Saviour, who was always her 
stay and support. She saw him in every blade of 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 159 

grass and flower by the wayside, in the blue sky 
overhead, in the rosy clouds of sunset, in the hum- 
blest pebble at her feet.. Her faith and trust in 
him lightened every labor and brightened every 
pleasure. She had the blessed assurance that she 
was accepted of him, and earth could offer no joy 
like that; no grief would be more than she could 
bear when she had her Saviour to rely upon for 
comfort. 


CHAPTER XII. 


GOOD COMPANY FOR WILLIE. 

Frau Maurizius and Dorris were cordially wel- 
comed home by their many friends, the void in 
church and community was again filled^ and the 
winter passed quickly and happily. They were 
efficient helpers in ail good works, and dropped 
naturally into the life and activities about them. 

One bright morning in early spring Dorris stood 
upon the terrace, where Giacomo was pruning 
vines and bushes with a practiced hand. 

The boy^s hope had been realized; Dorris had 
put garden and terrace in his care, and he arose an 
hour earlier that he might stop on his way to Pal- 
lanza each morning and sometimes an hour in the 
evening to keep all in order. 

He was one of the reliable and valuable assist- 
ants at the gardens, and received fair wages for his 
work. 

Willie in his carriage was near by, looking with 
delight upon a bouquet which Dorris had placed 
in his hands. 

It was a great satisfaction to all to see the great 
improvement in the boy since coming to Italy. He 
would always be lame, but his cheeks now had a 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home, 161 

tinge ef rose, his eyes had lost their languid ex- 
pression, and he was gaining flesh. 

Giacomo’s hour was nearly up when a neighbor, 
who had been to Cavandone, halted to leave a let- 
ter for Dorris, given her by the postmaster. 

It was post-marked Berlin, but forwarded from 
Schuls, and her surprise was great upon opening 
it to find a letter from Herr von Ernstein enclosing 
a check for quite a sum, which he begged her to 
accept and use in any way she wished in memory 
of Amalie. 

Dorris thanked God for the gift, for she hoped 
it would be the means of gratifying a long cher- 
ished wish, none other than to buy the cottage 
where Maja lived and the large lot which she and 
Marie had cultivated for many seasons and present 
them as a free gift to Maja. 

Dorothy knew of this wish and rejoiced with her 
that it could now be attained, providing the owner 
would sell it. 

will stop and tell him you wish to see him if 
you give me leave,” said Giacomo, his brilliant 
black eyes beaming with joy. 

^‘Do, Giacomo, leave your work and go now, 
that you may not be late at the gardens.” 

The boy hurried away, and Dorothy and her 
daughter talked over his new surprise; then 
Dorris wrote a hearty letter of thanks to Herr 
von Ernstein for his thoughtful kindness. 


162 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

They had thought that Giacomo had scarcely 
time to reach Pallanza when they saw a man com- 
ing up the mountain path and stop at their door. 
It was the owner of the house and lot and was 
eager to sell, as he needed money at the time. 

The bargain was soon made ; he tlien and 
there wrote an agreement, and the little property 
was Maja’s, the deed to be made out in her name. 

Toward evening, when Giacomo returned from 
Pallanza, Dorothy, Dorris and Willie were in readi- 
ness to accompany him to the cottage of Maja. 

^^She will never know how to thank you,” said 
Giacomo; ^^she has always longed for the lot, and 
feared some one would offer a higher rent for the 
cottage and get it.” 

Marietta was the first to see them coming and 
ran to meet them and help with Willie’s carriage, 
and Maja came to the end of the grape arbor and 
welcomed them eagerly. 

^^Maja,” said Dorris as they took seats on the 
benches in the arbor, came to tell you that I 
have had some money given me in memory of 
Fraulien von Emstein, of whom you often heard 
me speak, and who gave me papa’s painting of 
^The Shore of the North Sea.’ Mamma and I 
agree that the best use we can make of it is to buy 
that lot for you which you and Marie kept in 
such beautiful condition and raised such fine 
grapes and other fruits and vegetables. I have 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 163 

bought it and this cottage and they are yours. 
Here are the papers which give you possession/’ 
and she put them in her hand. 

Maja stood for a while speechless with surprise 
and joy, then took the hand of Dorris and kissed 
it many times. 

^‘My OTO, my very own!” she said with tears; 
^*no anxiety to raise the rent, whether we have 
good crops or not, as was once the case. It is no 
dream from which I will awake, but the field is 
mine for all time.” 

^‘Yes, yours, Maja. You can begin work in it 
this very evening if you choose. I will see that the 
deed shall be in your name and given into your 
own hands.” 

^^Where I had my rows of beautiful onions and 
other vegetables there are now rank weeds,” said 
Maja. “Oh, the joy it will be to Giacomo and 
me to see it cleared and planted !” 

“We must go now, Maja,” said Dorris, “and 
I wish you every success with your new posses- 
sions.” 

“Thank you a thousand times for them. Oh, 
the delight I will take in working in the sweet- 
smelling earth, in the dear field where Marie and 
I worked so many happy days ! Oh, Dorris, you 
have been our good angel, and may God’s blessing 
always rest upon you.” 

When mother and daughter reached home they 


164 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

found a middle-aged woman sitting upon the 
bench under the chestnut tree near the door, who 
arose and introduced herself as Fraulein Werner. 
Two handsome, bright-eyed little boys were playing 
near and came and stood by the carriage of Willie, 
to his great surprise and delight. 

^^Are you the Aunt Dorris that papa said would 
take care of us and teach us Italian?’^ asked the 
eldest boy, looking up at her. 

^^Yes, I am Dorris Maurizius, and would like 
you to tell me your name.^’ 

^Tt is Otto Strahl, and this is my brother 
Gustav.^^ 

Dorris gazed upon them in pleased surprise and 
FrMein Werner hastened to explain, Willie and 
the two visitors listening with intense interest. 

^‘Dr. Strahl is on the eve of taking a journey to 
India,^^ she said, “and took his two boys to Schuls, 
not knowing you had left there. He hoped to see 
you and ask you to take care of them, as the rela- 
tive who has had charge of them could not do so 
any longer. While in Schuls he heard that a 
lady at the Sanitarium had asked you to take 
charge of her crippled son, who must go to a 
warmer climate. You had accepted the charge 
and brought him to your old home on Mont Eosso. 
He said you would be doing him a great kindness 
to receive his boys under your and your mother^s 
care, for which you will be liberally paid.^’ 


Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 165 

am sure we can talce them, mamma, said 
Dorris, turning to her. ^^They will be happy here, 
and will be good company for Willie.^’ 

^^Certainly we will take them, dear, if you think 
best.^^ 

^Then we are to stay,’^ cried Otto, joyously, 
^‘^and papa said we could call you Aunt Dorris if 
you will let us.’’ 

^^Certainly you may, and you will be dear, good 
little boys, I am sure.” 

^‘She is my Aunt Dorris,” cried Willie, excit- 
edly; ‘^she shall not be your Aunt Dorris; she 
loved me first.” 

‘^Yes, Willie,” said Dorris, caressing him, ^^but 
these poor little boys have no mother and their 
father has gone far, far away from them, so you 
must help me keep them from being lonely.” 

Willie could not promise; but at that moment 
Dorothy unlocked the deor of the cottage. His 
carriage was taken through the corridor to the 
terrace, all following, and peace was restored to 
his troubled heart by being again in his loved 
corner amid the fiowers he loved. 

Supper was taken upon the terrace, and after 
an hour there, enjoying the lovely sunset, Dorris 
took the three boys to their rooms, heard them say 
their prayers, kissed them all good-night, and re- 
turned to the terrace, where Frau Dorothy and 


166 Dorris and Her Mountain Home. 

their guest for the night were enjo}dng the soft 
moonlight. 

They conversed for some time, then Frau 
Maurizius conducted their guest to her room, and 
Dorris remained alone for some time, her thoughts 
upon the incidents of her life under her Heavenly 
Father’s guiding hand; then she too retired to 
rest, singing softly : 

“Take my hand, oh Father dear, 

Let me know thee ever near.” 


THE END. 


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